


Things Remembered

by Theconsultingdetective



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theconsultingdetective/pseuds/Theconsultingdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel were perfect together; always were, always are, and always will be. Their love seems absolutely unshakable-until, that is, a car accident causes Castiel to forget the last 8 years of his life, and, by extension, everything and anything he knows about Dean. The only hope Dean has of returning things to the way they were is winning Castiel back, which may be easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          "Do you have reservations?" the maitre'd asked in a heavy French accent.   
"Yes," Cas answered. "Winchester-Milton." Winchester-Milton. Dean grinned, smiling like an idiot.  
"Ah, yes. Right this way, please, sir." Dean and Cas followed the suit-wearing maitre'd through the mazelike array of tables.   
"Nice place," Dean said under his breath as they arrived in a private, quiet corner of the restaurant. "French maitre'd and everything."  
"Of course," Castiel said. "Three years is a big milestone, Dean."  
"Don't I know it," Dean said as they sat down across from each other at the small round table. He smiled and flicked his eyes from the nearby string trio to the wall of wines stored behind a glass case to the man across from him, who was wearing a skinny black tie and white collared shirt.   
"And how are you gentlemen doing today?" the maitre'd asked.   
"Awesome," Dean said, realising too late that the word was out of place in the low-lit, five star restaurant.  
"Grand," he said, with a hint of distaste. "Here are your menus," he said, handing them each a burgundy coloured menu. "I recommend the wild salmon with sea beans or the foie gras banana bread taurine." Dean very nearly said, "Cool," but shut himself up just in time and let the more refined of the two of them do the talking.   
"Thank you," Cas said.   
"My pleasure, sir. The waiter will be here in a moment with your specials." At this, the maitre'd left, disappearing through an unmarked door that Dean assumed led to the kitchen. When he was gone, Dean relaxed visibly stiff and uncomfortable.   


        "There's nothing to worry about, Dean," Cas said. A smile crossed Dean's face. Cas was uncanny at reading his expressions; sometimes, it was a little humiliating for them both.   
"This is an incredible place," he said.   
"I know," Cas said. "I used to wait tables here when I was in college. The people tipped well." He smiled and, as he thought about it, realised he could still list most of the specials.   
"If Chef Carabel is still here," he said, almost confidentially, "and he still plans the menus like he used to, the specials are pasta with lamb ragú and braised duck." Dean laughed.   
"And what was your favourite thing to eat here?"  
"I always liked the vegan charcuterie he made," Cas said.   
"You were a vegan?" Dean asked.   
"Vegetarian," Cas replied. "I was a vegetarian when we met."  
"That's right," Dean said. "Cause I invited you over for a cookout as a thank you for finding Sam's dog, and you only ate the lettuce and tomatoes for the burgers." They laughed.   
"I remember that," Cas said. "And from that point on, you used to call me Rabbit, because according it you, all I ate was rabbit food." Dean nodded.   
"It was! Lettuce and carrots and those weird little seed things-"  
"Sprouts, Dean," Cas said with a laugh.  "Sure. Sprouts. They were still weird, though," Dean dismissed, watching a waiter approach over Cas' shoulder. "Hello, I'm Peter. How are you doing this evening?" he asked as he filled the glasses on the table with a shaky hand, making Dean feel a little sorry for him.   
"Good. How about you?" Dean asked. The waiter seemed surprised.   
"I'm good, sir. Now, would you like to hear our specials or do you already know what you'll have?" Dean glanced at Cas, who shrugged slightly and nodded.   
"Sure, why not?" Dean said.   
"They are pasta with lamb ragú and braised duck," Peter answered. Dean looked at Cas and chuckled.  
"Thanks, Peter. I think I'll have the steak with haricots vert," Dean said.   
"And I'd like the chickpea cake, please," Cas said. They each handed their menus to the waiter, who nodded, said "Good choice," and left.

          "Poor kid," Dean said as he walked off.   
"Reminds me of a certain other shy and bashful individual I could mention," Cas said into his glass of water.  
"Shy and bashful? Who, me?" Dean said, feigning obliviousness.   
"Yes, you."  
"I was hardly shy and bashful," Dean said.  
"Dean, when we met at the pound, you had your brother call me and ask me to the cookout."  
"I was busy," Dean argued.   
"I could hear you telling him what to say over the phone," Cas said, laughing.   
"I couldn't have been that bad," Dean said. "Seems you moved past it, at least." The waiter appeared again, like a ghost, with a plate of breads and butters in hand.   
"Here you are," he said, setting the dish down on the centre of the round table.   
"Thanks, Peter," Dean said.  
"You're welcome," Peter nodded. "Your main courses should be out shortly."   
"Alright," Cas said, smiling at the waiter. He smiled back, nodded, and left.

          "That was delicious," Dean said, holding open the door for Cas.   
"Yes, it was. Even the chickpea cake," Cas joked. "What was it you called that? "The weird vegetarian thing?""   
"Oh, relax," Dean said, laughingly. Their car (which Dean would not allow to be valet parked) was just a minute or two's walk though neither of them minded in particular. The night was beautiful and the moon full, and besides, Dean decided he needed the exercise. Cas was always so athletic, after all-always offering to walk Oswin, Sam's shaggy brown dog, and trying to drag Dean out of bed for runs around the neighbourhood in the early morning. "That waiter was scared to death," Dean said, opening the passenger side door of the Impala for Castiel.   
"That poor child," Cas said, with a shake of his head. "I can't blame him for being nervous, especially in a place like that. I mean, it's practically a maze of tables, and the clientele can be very picky." Dean nodded.   
"Were you nervous when you worked there?" he asked.   
"Sometimes. Especially when important people came in. But I had a few regulars who would request me by name specifically, which was always nice," Cas answered.  
"I wish I'd known you then," Dean said.   
"I wish I'd known you, as well. It would've been...different."  
"Different?"  
"Better." Dean smiled over at Cas as they drove down the moonlight downtown street. 

          "We should rent a movie," Cas suggested, after a few minutes of quiet driving.   
"Alright," Dean said. "Which one?" Cas thought for a moment, then said, "Don't laugh at me."  
"No promises," Dean replied with a smile.   
"Something romantic."  
"Something romantic," Dean repeated. "Sure, Cas. Sounds perfect." They switched onto the main highway, which was uncharacteristically busy for a Tuesday evening. Dean turned the rearview mirror to better see Cas, who smiled when he noticed.   
"Dean," he said, resting his head on the window.   
"Mm-hmm?" Cas opened his mouth to speak, but all of a sudden, the blare of a horn cut through his words. Dean looked back at the road, staring wide-eyed at the eighteen wheeler barreling towards them. The rest of the world came to a standstill as the truck continued on its path towards them, with Dean trying to drive out of the way but not being fast enough. Cas blinked, and it was only inches away from their car. He blinked again, and the air was filled with the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass. He latched onto Dean's arm as his world faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

          It had been a while since Dean had found himself in a hospital bed. Beside the bed was a blonde nurse; he would've hit on her if he didn't have Cas.  
Cas.   
"Hey, baby," Dean said. The nurse whirled around to face him. "The other guy, in the car with me...where is he?" he asked.   
"Down the hall," she answered. "But no way are you going to see him any time soon."  
"Oh, come on, babe, cut a guy some slack," Dean said, laughing. He looked himself up and down-his left arm was broken, his right ankle wrapped, and a bandage over his left ear. Nothing I haven't worked through before, he thought. Nothing he wouldn't work through for Cas, either. He began to stand up, but before he could get to his feet, the nurse put a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the bed.   
"Listen, babe, I like a woman who takes initiative," Dean said, "but I've gotta go check on him, so..."  
"Dean, he's fine."  
"Just let me go look at him," Dean said, realising once the words were out of his mouth that that sounded not only very "mushy," but also incredibly creepy. As the nurse was about to argue, a redheaded nurse wheeled an IV over to Dean's bedside.   
"No," the blonde nurse told Dean firmly. "Act tough all you want, but no amount of machismo will heal your broken ankle."  
"But-"  
"I'll take him over there," the redhead said. "He's obviously fine."  
"Alright, Charlie," the blonde said. "But don't let him stay for too long."  
"Don't worry," Charlie said. "I'll follow your example and be the image of tough love."  
 _Hardass, more like,_ Dean thought. Charlie unfolded the wheelchair that was propped up against the wall, rolled it over to the bedside, and steadied it as Dean climbed in. Dizziness swirled around his head like a cloud of smoke, but he wasn't about to let on. Cas was more important. She pushed the wheelchair down the hallway to the room next door.   
"I'm Cas' nurse," Charlie said. "My name's Charlie. Your nurse, the blonde, is Jo. She's alright, once you get to know her."  
"Let's hope so," Dean said. "Listen, Charlie. I'd really love it if you could move me into Cas' room."  
"I'll give it a shot," Charlie said. "You guys were together, right?" Dean smiled and nodded.   
"Three years."  
"Wow," Charlie said.   
"I know," Dean replied.   


          "He may not remember as much as you do, Dean, so be ready,"  Charlie said, pausing outside the door of the hospital room.   
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, concern tinting his voice.   
"You know how your memory is a little scrambled? His is...more scrambled. His memory loss goes back eight years."   
"He...oh." Dean's face fell. "He doesn't remember me," he said, almost emotionlessly. It hadn't quite sunken in yet-he would have to do everything all over again. They would have to fall in love again- _the first time was just dumb luck,_ he thought. What were the chances he could pull that off again? Dean rubbed his temple with his right hand and sighed.   
"Eight years, you said?" Charlie nodded.   
"And it won't come back?"   
"It's not likely. Not all of it, at least. Not all together." Dean blinked back the tears that accumulated in his eyes.   
"So he'll have to meet me again?" he asked, once he was as composed as he felt he was going to get.   
"Yeah," she replied. "But it's okay. You'll get to know each other fast."  
"Okay. Guess this gives me a chance to not make the same mistakes again, right?" Dean asked, signature grin covering the nerves and tears that were fit to bursting behind his eyes. Charlie laughed.   
"Yeah, exactly. But-don't tell him you know him. I know it's going to be hard, but he needs to be really solid on the basics before he can start reassembling his old life. Okay?" Dean bit his lip to stop its shaking, glanced up at the fluorescent light overhead, and nodded.  
"Yeah, alright," he said, after a moment's silence.  
"Are you ready?" Charlie asked.  
"As I'll ever be."

          She pushed open the door and wheeled Dean's chair inside. His heart felt heavy, like his whole body was being dragged down by its weight.   
"Castiel, this is Dean. He might be sharing a room with you till you two get out, alright?" Cas looked at the stranger and nodded. Dean looked at him for a long time, expecting some response other than a restrained and unfamiliar nod. It was almost like having known someone for a long time, then being apart for a while. If you bump into each other again-on the street, at the store, at a party-you feel like you can just begin again, where you left off, but you can't because you've both changed so much you're practically unrecognisable. Dean gave a small smile, only a tenth of its typical 100 wats, and Cas smiled back, in the way one does to a nice-seeming stranger.   
"Yes, that should be fine. Hello, Dean," he said, for the first time again.   
"Hey, Cas." Charlie took her hands off the chair, allowing Dean to wheel himself closer to the bed. Cas had a bandage wrapped around his head, his hair falling messily over the white strip. His right leg was affixed to the ceiling, hanging from a swing.  
"How're you feeling?" Dean asked, worry creeping into his voice.   
"I'll be fine. They have me on all variety of pain medications, so physically I'm...handling it. Mentally, I'm having some minor difficulties with making sense of the gaps in my memory. But I'll cope."  
"Of course you'll cope. You always cope," Dean said.  
"How do you know?" Cas asked, tilting his head. Dean remembered the head tilt, but Cas didn't remember him.   
"I...you just seem like the coping type," Dean said. If Cas was already having a difficult time working through his new "gaps," he couldn't imagine introducing a whole new dimension of screwy into his life.   
"Alright," Charlie said. "I'm gonna bring in another bed for you, Dean. Wait here." Dean nodded.   
"So, Cas, how'd you land in here?" he asked. He hoped desperately that Cas would say, "I was in a car accident with my boyfriend of three years," and that maybe Dean's face had somehow brought back memories that had supposedly been forgotten. Sadly, the response he'd wanted was not the one he got.   
"I'm told it was an accident. But...I don't recall too much. In fact, I can't...I remember turning 15, but nothing after that. I'm told my memory loss goes back eight years. Regardless, though...yourself?" Cas asked. Dean debated what to say for a moment. As much as he wanted things to be the way they were before the accident, he wanted Cas to be happy, and giving him so much information so soon wasn't going to lead to that.   
"I was in a car accident, too," Dean said simply.   
"Really? That's coincidence, I suppose," Cas said.   
"Or something like it," Dean replied. 

         Charlie pushed the bed through the door, positioning it just left of Cas' bed.   
"Dean, there's your bed. You'll be out before too long, I think. Cas, you'll be here a little longer than Dean will, since your amnesia is more severe. You both are gonna have to be Professor X-ing around a little before you're up and walking again." Dean laughed at the joke as he wheeled himself over to the newly positioned bed.   
"Professor X-ing?" Cas asked. Dean smiled. That was Cas, through and through. He knew they'd have to re-watch all the movies Dean had introduced him to; the X-Men, Batman, the old Godzillas, and Casablanca, Cas' personal favourite.   
"He was a character on the X-men movie. He had a wheelchair," Charlie explained. "Now, the two of you need your beauty rest. Hit the call button if you need anything."  
"Thank you, Charlie," Cas said.   
"Thanks," Dean added. She smiled and left the room. 

         Now that Dean was sure that Cas was relatively okay, he gave himself a chance to take in the room. The wallpaper had small and plain designs-flowers of fleur de lis or something else, the tan of the shapes only barely standing out against the creamy white of the background. There was a small TV in one corner, playing C-Span on mute. When Cas caught Dean looking at the television, he said, "Dean, if you'd rather not watch this, I can change it. I don't watch very much TV-actually, this is usually all I watch." _This and the Puppy Bowl, when it's on, and the Christmas movies on ABC,_ Dean thought. This was torturous for Dean. There was so much he wanted to do, and so much he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn't. He just wanted to jump back to where they were before, after three years of falling deeper and deeper in love, but that was impossible. _Well,_ he thought, _Cas has eight years of life to recover. It's as good a time to start as any._  
"Actually, Cas, can I see the remote?" Cas handed Dean the remote from the nighttable between them.   
"Absolutely, Dean." Dean flicked through the channels, finally settling on the Wrath of Khan Star Trek movie.   
"Okay, Cas. This movie's a couple minutes in already, but it's a classic." Cas smiled and looked up at the television, the colours of the screen reflecting across his face and in his unrealistically blue eyes. Charlie peeked her head in, like a mother checking on children, then disappeared after shutting the lights off. It was just like before-Dean and Cas, side by side, watching classic movies together into the small hours of the morning. Cas demanded a second movie, so luckily Dean found The Terminator (during which they both fell asleep, looking adorable, as Charlie would mention the following morning.) Dean dreamt of Castiel, and the hospital, all the events of the day before playing through his mind like a scratched record repeating the same chorus again and again. 

          Dean woke up in a haze the next morning, staring at the white and smooth ceiling of the hospital room. The beepings of the machines he and Castiel were hooked up to put him on edge for a moment, until he remembered what they both were doing in there. He looked over at the bed to his left, where Cas lay, eating a bowl of Cheerios.  
"Hey, Cas," Dean called, sitting up in bed.  
"Oh. Good morning, Dean," Cas answered between spoonfuls. Dean breathed a sigh of relief- _at least Cas remembers my name,_ he thought. Of course, it was said with an unfamiliarity that served as a constant reminder of their new situation, but it was a start, he told himself.  
"How did you sleep last night?" Castiel asked.  
"Alright," Dean said with a shrug. "And you?"  
"Fine, relatively. This is not exactly the most comfortable of positions, but then I don't really sleep very much, so I hardly noticed." Dean smiled and nodded.  
"I know," he muttered.  
"You know what?" Cas asked, cocking his head. Dean laughed, almost sarcastically, to himself.  
"I know...I know it's not a very comfortable sleeping position."  
"Have you broken your arm before?" Cas asked, ignoring his cereal.   
_You know I have,_ Dean wanted to say. _You were there. I fell down a flight of stairs and you visited me at the hospital, and we used to go on dates to the hospital cafeteria together and you brought me flowers and drew museum-quality pictures on my cast, and when they cut it off, I saved the best one and we kept it-_  
"Once," Dean answered finally. "I fell down a flight of stairs. How about you?" Cas shook his head.  
"No. Actually, this is my first time in the hospital, I believe. Although I'm afraid I can't remember very much," he said, and a confused look came over his face, as though he was trying to remember whether or not he had left the stove on.  
"Don't worry about it," Dean said, waving dismissively. "I'm sure you'll be okay."  
"Thank you, Dean," Cas said. "Oh, Nurse Bradbury wanted me to let you know that you need to page her when you want breakfast."  
"Nurse Bradbury?" Dean asked.  
"Charlie," Cas said. Dean nodded.  
"Yeah, I will." He pressed the button behind his bed, then looked over at Cas.  
"So, exactly what did they say happened to you?" Dean asked.  
"I was in a car accident in which my car was hit by a eighteen wheeler, resulting in a broken leg and what I'm told is severe memory loss. Apparently, my side of the car took most of the damage-the nurses said it was a miracle I wasn't killed." Cas smiled.  
"Were you ever told what happened to the guy who hit you?" Dean asked.  
"He was drunk, they said. He's here now. He's very injured-dying, as I understand it," Cas told him sadly. "Why have you taken such an interest in me, Dean?" Cas asked. _Because I love you._  
"Because you seem like an interest-worthy guy," Dean said simply. He smiled, trying to keep melancholy from creeping into his voice.  
"Well, thank you. As do you. What happened to you?" Cas asked.  
"Um, car wreck. Broken ankle, broken arm...I'm pretty beat up, evidently," he said with a mirthless laugh.  
"Yes, we both are, it seems," Castiel said. The door opened, revealing Charlie. She was carrying a tray with a bowl and glass on it, the bowl covered by a plastic dome.  


       "Ooh, fancy," Dean said.  
"More like Cheerios," Charlie corrected with a smile. "I hope you like them, cause they're what's for breakfast for the next few weeks."  
"At this point, Charlie, I'll eat anything. I'm starved," Dean said. Charlie lifted the tray table into place, setting down the tray on top of it.  
"That's a good sign. How about you, Cassie?" she asked.  
"I'll be fine," he answered. "I can only get better."  
"Attaboy," Charlie said. "Now, Cas, you've gotta go to surgery for your leg, and Dean, you for your ankle and your arm. I'll come get you before too much longer." She smiled, opened the blinds, and walked out of the hospital room. Dean distractedly ate his Cheerios, glancing to and from Cas.  


"Dean, would you put the television on for me, please?" Cas asked.  
"Sure," Dean said. He grabbed the remote off the bedside table and clicked on the television, it coming to life with a brief humming whir. Immediately, Dean flicked through the channels until he found what he and Cas always watched together in the mornings-the Science channel. Nature documentaries were Castiel's favourites, and, by extension, Dean's. He was never very good at science in school, but when he watched it with Cas, it made him interested. On the screen, a bee circled a massive purple flower. A voice with a heavy English accent narrated in the background.  
"I love these shows," he said. "I find the natural world fascinating." Dean smiled.  
 _Well, he's still a huge dork,_ he thought to himself.  
"It is, yeah," Dean said. There was a knock on the door jamb, and Charlie stepped inside.  
"You guys ready for your surgery?" she asked.  
"I suppose so," Cas said, a hint of nerves in his voice.  
"Don't worry about it, Cas. You'll be fine, I'm sure," Dean said.  
"Thank you, Dean. As will you," Cas said, smiling at Dean, who couldn't help but smile back. Charlie pushed a wheelchair to Cas' bedside, took his leg out of the sling and helped him into the chair. Then, Jo entered, pushing another chair.  
"Hello, nurse," Dean said, them laughed to himself when he realised his accidental joke. Jo looked absolutely exasperated, though slightly amused, as she pushed the wheelchair over to Dean's bed. He sat up, beginning to get off the bed, but sat back down when his wrapped ankle touched the ground.  
"You are just determined to make that ankle even worse, aren't you, Winchester?" she asked.  
"You know me," he said. "Absolutely hell-bent on self destruction," he added with a smirk. Jo was, again, not amused. He climbed into the wheelchair and rested his ankle on the small pedal-like footrest. Dean watched as Charlie, pushing Cas in his chair, walked out of the room.  


          "So this surgery," Dean said over his shoulder as Jo pushed the chair out of the room, "exactly how easy is it to screw up?" Jo laughed.  
"It's routine. Rarely, if ever, is there a serious problem," she said as she pushed him out of the room and in the opposite direction of Cas.  
"And the doctors? Are they any good?"  
"Dean. They're great doctors. He'll be fine," she said.   
_She's more perceptive than I thought,_ Dean thought to himself. But, then again, he had been exuding massive "clingy boyfriend" vibes. He couldn't be surprised that she'd picked up on it.  
"How long am I gonna be stuck in this dump, anyways?" he asked, turning around slightly to face Jo.  
"By dump, do you mean where I work?" she said, half serious and half teasing.  
"Yeah, sure," Dean said.  
"Not too long. A week, max. Not only have you got your ankle, but your arm is obviously broken, too, so unless you have someone to stay with, you're gonna have kind of a hard time on your own." Dean ran through who he could stay with in his mind. His first thought was, Cas, of course, but then he realised that that would not be an option. Sam was busy with law school, not to mention his new girlfriend. _Oh, what was her name? Redhead, schoolteacher, kinda hot...Alice!_ He smiled when he finally remembered it, reassuring himself that his memory was intact.  
"Alright," Jo said, opening the door to a room Dean recognised from hours of hospital drama as an OR. "Lie down on this and close your eyes," she said, nodding at the operating table as she folded up the wheelchair and propped it up against the wall.  
"I like the sound of that..." he muttered under his breath.  
"Don't test me," Jo replied teasingly. "In a few minutes, I'm going to have a very large and very sharp needle with which I will have to stab you, and how much that hurts all depends on how you act right now."  
"Threatening," Dean said.  
"Tell me about it," Jo replied. The door swung open and Dean heard footsteps and a disembodied voice saying, "This is Winchester, right?" His voice had a hissing quality, due in part to his lisp and in part to some unnamed quality. Something about him-maybe his voice, maybe just the situation in general-put Dean on edge.  
"Yep," Jo said. "Dean, this is Alastair. He's an anaesthesiologist."  
"Hey," Dean said. The man did not respond, which Dean thought was lucky.  
"Here, Dean," Jo said. There was the sound of a cart rolling across the floor, then hovering over Dean's head appeared a face mask. Jo lowered it over his mouth and said, "Take a deep breath." Dean did, and immediately a drowsy feeling blanketed his mind like fog.  
"How're you feeling?" Jo asked. The door opened again, and two more people entered.  
"Just...awesome," Dean said, a little drowsily. "A little tired."  
"Okay. Now, you're gonna-"  
"Ow!" Dean said, though it was said from beneath a haze of sleepiness.  
"Warned ya," Jo said. Dean smiled and took another deep breath, making him slip entirely into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was a voice saying, "another nurse needed with C. Milton, down the hall...complications..." but there was nothing he could do to avoid falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer, angstier chapter for today, to make up the last short-ish one. More soon-Saturday, probably. Tell me what you think in the comments! Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

         The haze of the anaesthesia finally began to wear off as Dean lifted his head from his pillow. Looking around, he discovered an IV trailing from his right arm, his left arm and ankle protected by a sterile dressing.  
"Good morning, sunshine," Charlie said. She was standing at the foot of his bed, writing in red pen on a chart.  
"Hey, Charlie," he said. He looked over expecting to find Cas in the bed beside him, but both bed and patient were gone entirely.  
"Where's Cas?" he asked, sitting up.  
"He's on his way. Don't worry."  
"But what about the extra nurses they asked for?" Dean said, suspiciously.  
"Don't worry about it, Dean," Charlie said. "We're handling it."  
"What does that mean?" he asked, trying to suffocate his anger and irritation.  
"It means there was a small problem, but we're working to solve it now. Don't worry, Dean. If it develops into something serious, you'll be the first to know," Charlie said. The apologetic tone in her voice planted seeds of doubt in Dean's mind-if it was only minor, why wasn't she being more direct?  
"So then there's no reason for you not to tell me," Dean said.  
"Listen, Dean, I want to tell you, I do, but there needs to be a level of patient staff confidentiality. I mean, we can't go spilling all Cas' secrets to just anyone-" Dean took a deep breath, and with resigned yet seething anger, said, "I'm not just anyone, I'm his goddamned boyfriend."  
 _Was_. He was Cas' goddamned boyfriend. The reminder was painful but important; things weren't the same as they were before the accident, so he couldn't act the same. Charlie smiled slightly and said, "Don't worry, Dean. He'll be here soon, and you can see that he's fine for yourself."  
As if on cue, Jo pushed in a hospital bed, in which Castiel was lying asleep. The bed was followed closely by a cordless heart monitor, beeping steadily. She returned the bed to its rightful place by Dean's side, putting him more at ease.  
"How're you feeling?" Jo asked. Dean shrugged.  
"Fine. Kinda sore, but fine." Jo nodded.  
"Alright. See you around, then. Page me if you need something," she said.  
"Yeah," Dean said. "Hey," he called after her as she left the room, "when's Cas gonna wake up?"  
"Soon," Jo answered, smiled, and turned on her heel, closing the door behind her. 

          Dean fidgeted under the thin blanket covering him, anxious, attention stuck on Cas like the other man had planted a flag on his mind to lay claim to it. He turned on the television and tried to focus on the sit-com unfolding on the screen, but he kept casting glances at the sleeping man next to him. After a moment, he muted the television entirely, listening to the heart monitor with the same attentiveness as if it was his own; in many ways, it was. If that heart monitor were to stop, if that beeping were to disappear- _well_ , he thought, _I don't even want to think about that._ He listened to the quiet of the hospital, to the noises of wheels against the floor in the hallway, and to the sound of his own breath, synchronised with Cas' pulse. He started to consider a plan of how he would win Cas back-he had around a week to make Cas fall in love with him again, or try, at least. The whole premise of falling in love had always amused him, especially since the person who was fallen for was effectively tripping the lover. He smiled to himself. A week. He had a week to trip Castiel, or at least to get him interested enough to get a date. Anyone else and he would've just left, without paying it any further mind, but Cas...Cas was a horse of a whole different colour. In the bed next to him, Cas shifted, and Dean couldn't help but lean forward hopefully. It was just him rolling over, he realised, then smiled. That was, after all, the same way Cas always woke up. He'd be perfectly still, then there was some kind of preliminary shift, then he would either take a deep breath or mutter something before sitting up slowly and trudging out of the room for coffee. Dean was lost in thought when he heard an inhale, and saw the blanket rise and fall, and before he knew it Cas was sitting up in his rickety looking hospital bed, hair dishevelled, head still bandaged.  
"Morning, Rabbit," Dean said, before instantly regretting it. The old nickname was a natural response to seeing Cas, just like turning a light on when you enter a room or looking both ways before crossing a busy street.   
_Force of habit,_ he thought to himself. Maybe Cas was still too out of it to notice.  
"What?" Cas asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eye.  
"Good morning," Dean corrected hastily, with a nagging sadness still tugging on his mind. "How ya feelin'?" he asked, fearing the answer. The complication from the surgery still lurked in the back of his mind, like a hidden land mine just waiting to be triggered.  
"Oh, alright, I suppose, considering. And you?" Dean shrugged.  
"Can't complain. Did you sleep well?"  
"Yes, thank you. Better than I have in a while."  
"Good," Dean said. Unexpectedly, there was a soft knock on the door.  
"Come in," Cas said. Charlie, followed by a shortish man carrying a farmers market bag, entered. 

          "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," the man said. Cas' eyes lit up.  
"Gabriel!" Charlie smiled and stepped aside, allowing Gabriel to walk to the side of Cas' bed.  
"I take it you're accepting visitors?" she asked.  
"Well, I am now," Cas said. Dean watched as Gabriel dragged a chair over to Cas' bedside and sat down, emptying the bag of stuff onto the low coffee table. There was the customary hospital supplies-clothes, a pillow, the necessities-and then there was everything else. Gabriel, it seemed, had gathered all the stuff that belonged to Cas from the house he and Dean shared and brought it to the hospital. He'd brought the stack of books from Cas' nightstand, along with a picture of himself, Cas, Sam, and Dean. Cas looked at the picture in silence for a second, and Dean hoped against hope that somehow, miraculously, he'd see it and something in his brain would click and all his memory would come flooding back.  
"That's a very good picture," was all Cas said before returning it to the nightstand in between their beds. Once Gabriel was finished unloading the contents of his bag, he stood up, pushed the chair back to its original place, and walked over to the edge of Dean's bed.  
"Hey, Dean-o," he said. Dean smiled. _Same ol' Gabe,_ he thought. At least that was one thing that was a constant in his life.  
"Hey, Gabriel. How've you been?"  
"Better than you, apparently. I bought you something," he said, taking something out of the very bottom of the bag. It was a photograph of Cas and Dean, holding hands and walking along a beach, silhouetted against the setting sun. Dean knew exactly where it was taken (Southern California, on a vacation) and when (June of year 2, the day before Cas' birthday) at a glance. He smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.  
"What, are you trying to turn this into some sappy chick flick?" he asked, placing the photograph gingerly on his bedside table.  
"That's my goal," Gabriel said. "But you can't let Cas see it," he half-whispered. "If he does, he might go a little..." He paused, checked to see if Cas was looking or not, then made the internationally recognised "crazy" gesture beside his head. Dean nodded.  
"Don't worry, Gabe. I've got more common sense then that."  
"Sure you do," Gabriel said, turning to leave.  
"Thanks, by the way," Dean called after him. Gabriel waved his gratitude away.  
"It was nothing," he said. "Cas, I'm gonna try to be back in two days, on Friday, alright?" Cas nodded, not looking up from the book he was already reading (from the beginning again, Dean noted.)  
"See you then, Gabriel," he said. Before he left, Gabriel waved at Dean, who waved back. 

          When the door was closed, Cas set the book down and said, "How do you and my brother know each other?"  
"Mutual friend," Dean said.  
"Whom?" Cas asked. Dean picked up the picture from the table, looked at it for a moment, and said with careful vaugeness, "Someone you know pretty well." Cas laughed.  
"I'm going to need some further explanation," he said.  
"Your brother," Dean said quickly. "Ezekiel. He worked with my brother for a while." This was not, in fact, a lie-Ezekiel had worked briefly at the law firm where Sam was working now. (His name was in the title, actually, which was a never-ending source of pride for Dean.)  
"Oh, of course. Who's your brother?" Cas asked, looking at the photograph Gabriel had brought him intently.  
"Sam," Dean said. "He's the Winchester in Winchester, Crowley and Lafitte." Cas nodded, though it didn't seem like he understood.  
"I think..." he began, but trailed off.  
"What?" Dean asked gingerly, not wanting to force the issue and yet so anxious to protect his Castiel, even where he knew he couldn't.  
"I think that is outside of my memory," he said after a moments consideration. Melancholy, understandable but unwelcome, was creeping into his voice.  
"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "You'll catch up with yourself before too long, and then you'll be fine." The room phone rang, and Dean looked at it for a moment.  
"Who do you think it's for?" Cas asked.  
"One way to find out," Dean said. With his free arm, he reached over and answered the old, discoloured phone, sending the cradle skittering after it.  


"Hello?" he said.  
"Dean?" a voice he recognised as his brother's asked.  
"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, smiling.  
"Hey, Dean. How are you feeling?"  
"Oh, I'll struggle on," Dean said, half joking, half not. "You?"  
"I'm fine. Kind of a long day. But fine. Listen, I want to come visit you in the hospital, and I was wondering if this evening might work. Like, four thirty, maybe?" Sam suggested.  
"Sure," Dean said. "What time is it now?"  
"Three," Sam answered. "You want me to bring you anything from your house?"  
"Oh, yeah," Dean said. "The pillow on my side of the bed-the messy one, that is-and some clothes, I guess. Oh, and the chips that are in the pantry, and the Neil Gaiman book on the bookshelf in the hall. Please and thank you," he added.  
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said. "Does Cas need anything?" Dean sighed.  
"No. Gabe's already been by, and brought most everything."  
"What's wrong?"  
"Nothing. I'll fill you in when you get here."  
"Alright. See you then," Sam said, sounding vaguely suspicious.  
"Yeah, see you." Dean hung up the phone and looked over at Cas.  
"You wanna check the Science channel?" he said.  
"Sure," Cas replied. Dean typed in the number on the remote, changing the picture on the screen from a family in tacky sweaters standing around a sofa and laughing to an orca leaping out of the water with a seal in its mouth.  
"Yikes," Dean said simply.  
"I cannot argue with that," Cas agreed with a laugh. They watched the "Creatures of the Arctic Deep" special for a few minutes before Charlie, carrying two trays of covered food, came in. 

          "Hey," Dean said. "Is that lunch?"   
"Yep," Charlie said. "Turkey sandwiches." She set the trays down on the low coffee table, walked over to Dean's bed, and lifted up his table.  
"How's the arm?" she asked.  
"Alright," Dean said. "Can I have a visitor here in an hour?"  
"Yeah, sure," Charlie said. "Who?"  
"My brother. He should be on the list." She nodded.  
"Sam, right?" Cas passed her the tray for Dean, which he took and set on the table.  
"Yep." Dean lifted the cover off of the tray of food, revealing a plain looking sandwich.  
"Gourmet," he said sarcastically, eliciting a small laugh from Charlie as she left the room. Cas smiled, then started taking apart his sandwich.  
"What're you doing?" Dean asked, chucking quietly as he watched.  
"I'm a vegetarian," Cas said. Dean nodded.  
"D'you want my Jello cup?" Dean asked, picking up the container and offering it to Cas.  
"Yes, please. Provided you don't, of course," he said.  
"I really don't mind," Dean said. And besides, he knew how much Cas had loved the stuff-before, at least. When Dean had first offered it to him, he had been almost disgusted, claiming that it looked like the alien creature from some 1960's b-movie. He had been convinced, though, to try it, and when he had, he discovered he loved the stuff. They always had at least three boxes of the mix in their pantry, seeming out of place against the shelves of organic food. Cas looked up, and caught Dean smiling at him.  
"What?" Cas asked. Dean shook his head.  
"Nothing. I'm just remembering something that happened a while back," he said, which wasn't a total lie. Dean couldn't bear not telling Castiel the whole truth, though. He wanted to say everything, about their past, about what would've been their future, and about how much he cared. But now, their relationship was returned to its original status-a hopeless crush. Cas looked at the Jello with an almost suspicious air, opened the container, and prodded it with his spoon before taking a bite.  
"That defies all explanation," Cas observed, taking another bite nevertheless. Dean laughed.  
"D'you like it?" he asked, when his laughing finally ended in an apologetic sounding throat clear.  
"Oddly, yes. It's bizarre, and it looks like the result of a lab experiment gone awry, but it is strangely good." Dean smiled. _He obviously hasn't changed,_ Dean thought. He was still speaking in the way he used to-like English was foreign, or something he was learning, and he took the same care to pick the correct word for everything he wanted to say. Dean had said he should've become a poet, since the little notes he sometimes left in the mornings were always sweet and romantic and artfully written, and Cas always signed his full name at the bottom, "Castiel Milton," written in smoothly flowing script by the same blue pen he always carried. Over the last few weeks, it had turned into "Castiel Winchester-Milton," and Dean almost spat out his coffee the first time he read it, in all it's hyphenated glory. Was he overreacting? Probably, yes. But that did not stop him from putting it in his wallet, between his license and the old picture from Sam's engagement party, back when he and Jess were going to get married. He was lost in thought when someone knocked on the closed door, the short yet persistent double-knock indicative of his brother. 

          "Come in, Sammy," Dean said, from behind a mouthful of white bread, mustard, and what was supposedly turkey, though he was unconvinced. Sam opened the door and walked in, carrying a backpack in one hand and a grocery bag in the other.  
"Hey, Dean," Sam said, dragging a chair over to the bedside. "How're you feeling?" He furrowed his eyebrows in the way that Dean had always likened to a concerned puppy.  
"I'm fine. I got out of surgery not too long ago. Did anyone tell you-?"  
"Yeah, I came by the night before last, as soon as I heard. You guys were both still unconscious, but Jo caught me up on everything when I got here." Dean nodded.  
"And Cas-you've heard?" he asked quietly. Sam nodded.  
"Gabe told me yesterday when he bought coffee by the office." Dean smiled.  
"How cute," he said tauntingly. "Did he bring you chocolates and one of those bears that're holding hearts, too?" Sam's face gave away his embarrassment.  
"Shut up, Dean," he said, though he obviously didn't mind too much. "I brought the stuff you asked for." He unzipped the backpack, set the book on the table, and started laying the clothes in the drawers of the nightstand.  
"Sam, I'm only gonna be here for two more days," Dean said. "It's not like I'm in it for the long haul."  
"I'll remember not to do you any favour in the future, then," Sam said, ardently continuing to fill the drawers with t-shirts and jeans.  
"Did you bring my chips?" Dean said, changing the subject.  
"Yes," Sam said grudgingly. "Although since you can't exercise while your leg is out of commission, I don't think you should eat so many-"  
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dean said, having no intention to change his diet plans. "Just hand me the bag." Unenthusiastically, Sam handed over the bag of chips, opening it for him.  
"Thank you." He poured a handful onto his plate, then turned to Cas.  
"Cas, d'you want a chip?" Cas, as Dean had predicted, nodded.  
"Yes, thank you." He reached into the bag and pulled out a single chip, which he ate in not two, but three bites. _How polite,_ Dean thought. Though Cas' memory may have gone, his personality was still undeniably intact. 

          "Crowley and I will take care of the legal ramifications of the crash, so don't worry about that," Sam said. Dean turned to face him, still holding the bag of chips out to Cas.  
"Crowley?" Dean asked.  
"Yeah, my partner," Sam said, entirely mature. Dean laughed. "Really?" Sam said, straight face dematerialising. "You are so immature."  
"You're partners-" Dean said through his laughter.  
"You would never hold up in a courtroom," Sam said. "You'd just sit around and laugh nonstop." When they'd both recovered, Sam continued. "Yes, Crowley's offered to help me out a little. It shouldn't be a difficult case, though, so don't worry about it."  
"I'm not worried," Dean said, "I'm just surprised Crowley's actually offered to do something for us." Sam shrugged.  
"He's not a bad guy. Not to mention, he's taken kind of a liking to you and your little boyfriend," he said tactfully, glancing up at Cas. "He thinks you're sweet together." Dean raised his eyebrows.  
"I'll believe it when I see it," he said.  
"Well, you won't have to wait too long. He wants to talk to you Friday morning," Sam said.  
"He can't. I'll still be here then," Dean corrected.  
"He's coming here," Sam said. Even he sounded surprised.  
"I thought he was a massive germophobe," Dean said.  
"Apparently not," Sam replied. His phone vibrated in the front pocket of his backpack.  
"I'll bet that's Gabriel," he said. "He said he'd call." Dean crossed his arms and gave Sam a slightly reproachful look.  
"I'm telling you, man, this has all the signs of an actual relationship. I mean, phone calls every five minutes, coffee at your office every morning, talking about personal stuff..." Sam looked at Dean with the patented Sam Winchester glare and answered the phone, then started for the door.  
"Hey, Gabe." Pause. "Of course." Pause. Sam laughed, in the way that goes all the way from his mouth to his eyes. "I won't! Okay. Yeah, I'm there now. Alright. See you then. Bye." He hung up the phone, after waiting in silence for a moment, which Dean recognised as the pause as he waits for the other person to hang up first.  
"Was that my brother?" Cas asked.  
"Yeah," Sam said. "I'm Sam Winchester, by the way. Dean's younger brother." In true professional fashion, he offered Cas his hand, which Cas shook, a little weakly. Sam smiled.  
"Nice to meet you. I'm Castiel, Gabriel's younger brother." Sam nodded.  
"Nice to meet you, too. Alright, I'd better go. I'll pick you up Friday." Sam walked back over to where he left his backpack, saying, "By the way, Dean, there's healthy food in the grocery bag, in case you feel like giving your arteries a little break."  
"Doubt it," Dean said, "but thanks all the same. See ya."  
"Yep. You too, Cas." Sam waved over his shoulder at Cas as he left, who waved weakly back. 

          Dean and Cas were halfway into another documentary on the rainforest when Cas said something a little odd.  
"What are you doing here?" he asked. On the screen, two birds bickered over a pile of seeds.  
"Recuperating, I guess," Dean said. "Why?"  
"No, I mean, here-here. In this room. Why were you moved?" Dean bit his tongue. _What do I do? Lie?_ he asked himself. What would be the point of telling the truth, anyway? But then, what lie could he tell?  
Hastily, Dean said, "Logistics. Space. Someone else needed the other room." As soon as the words escaped his lips, he regretted them. Cas shook his head.  
"That's not it. It's something more. Whenever you look at me, it's as though you know me. It seems like you're looking at an old friend. It doesn't make any sense," Cas said.   
_This is your chance,_ Dean told himself. _He asked. Now tell him._ Dean shrugged instead.  
"Maybe you just have one of those faces," he said. Cas laughed slightly, which was quickly replaced by a wince of pain. Dean sat up, hand already extended for the call button on the wall behind the bed.  
"What's wrong?"  
"Nothing," Cas said. "Just-nothing." Dean knew that look; furrowed eyebrows, tense shoulders, and a barely buried grimace.  
"I'm going to call Charlie," he said, the "complication" reappearing like a poorly diffused bomb.  
"Dean, I'm fine," Cas said, though the pained look remained.  
"Well, what could it hurt?" Dean asked. "If it's nothing, it's nothing, and if it's something, we're lucky we found it now." Cas looked resigned, and vaguely relieved.  
"I suppose you're right." Dean pressed the button and settled back into bed.  
"Course I'm right," he said. Soon, Jo came in, followed by Charlie.   


"Did you call me?" Jo asked.  
"Yeah," Dean said. "Something's up with Cas."  
"What's wrong?" Charlie asked, concern creeping into her voice.  
"It's nothing. I'm sure it's just residual pain from the surgery," Cas said.  
"Is it your leg?" Dean asked, pulling the thin blankets off of himself.  
"Winchester," Jo warned, eyebrows raised. "I'd avoid putting weight on that ankle, if I were you."  
"I won't, Jo," Dean snapped, before looking expectantly back to Cas.  
"Yes, it is. It's really nothing, I'm sure it's just resulting from the surgery," he said dismissively. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows.   
"Where exactly does it hurt?" she asked.   
"Just my calf-but I'm sure it's not important," he said, shaking his head.   
"Cas, I think you're going to need a second surgery," she said. "Jo, get Dr. Morningstar and find an opened OR." Jo nodded and walked, with quick and urgent steps, out of the room and down the hall.  
"What is it?" Dean demanded, seeming more anxious than the patient himself. Charlie looked at Cas.  
"D'you mind if Dean hears this?" she asked, nudging the safely brake on the gurney with her foot. Cas nodded.  
"I trust him," he said. For a brief moment, things seemed calm, as though an oasis in the middle of the stress and tension of the situation had suddenly revealed itself.  


"You have all the symptoms of something called "Compartment Syndrome." We have to do a test to make certain, but it seems pretty likely," Charlie said, her seriousness thinly veiling unease.  
"What is that?" Cas asked, almost bizarrely relaxed.  
"It's when swelling in the muscles blocks nerve signals and blood to an area, which leads to pain and can result in permanent nerve damage or, in some cases, amputation of the affected limb," Charlie said, as though she was reading the definition verbatim from a medical textbook. Dean knew that tactic himself-attempting to distance yourself from the problem so you could handle it without emotional involvement. _Hell,_ he thought, _you're doing it now._  
"What's the prognosis?" Cas asked, with the same serene tone as before. Dean was keeping silent (for once), trying to convince himself that it was really nothing, just something easily fixable by a short surgery and a few pills. Cas' calmness, though, was what really set him on edge. Surely he should've been more upset; the sheer lack of emotion in his voice made Dean wonder if he somehow didn't understand the situation, which was highly unlikely.  
"Usually good, but because of the nature of the injury, we'll just have to wait and see." Jo ran back in, leaning through the doorway.  
"OR 5 is open. Morningstar's already there," she said, before disappearing just as quickly as she'd arrived.  
"Alright, Cas," Charlie said, as much a question as a statement. He nodded, glancing at Dean with a consoling look in his clear blue eyes. She grabbed the heart monitor with one hand, the other pushing the gurney out of the room. Dean started after them, standing up but crumpling back onto the bed. He sighed defeatedly and leaned back in the bed, listening to the ever more distant purr of the gurney wheels against the hall floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late! Finals are being real monsters. I hope you like this chapter. It's a little longer than the last one, and the next one should be posted soon-no kidding this time. Thanks for reading and more soon!


	4. Chapter 4

It had been half an hour; Dean watched the minutes pass with gathering dread. He sat on the bed, sitting up expectantly like a waiting dog whenever a gurney would pass in the hallway. His eyes rested on the door, trying to will Cas to appear on the other side. He watched and waited, the television droning on in the background-this time, some survival show about blow darts. Occasionally, Jo would pass, glancing in to make sure he was okay and scolding, "Winchester," whenever she saw him try to stand. He would give her a guilty hangdog look, and she would smile, shake her head, and walk off. After about an hour of jangling nerves and butterflies in his stomach, Jo returned with a chocolate bar. She sat down in the chair next to his bed and started flipping through one of Dean's books stacked on the floor.  
"Don't get chocolate on that, it's Cas'," Dean said absently.  
"You two were dating, huh?" she asked, licking some of the chocolate off of her fingers and continuing to page through the book.  
"Yeah," Dean said, still eyeing the door. "Three years."  
"Long time," Jo observed, a hint of sympathy in her voice. "Chocolate?" Dean paused his vigil for a moment to accept a small, half-melted block of Hershey's.  
"Thanks." He bit the small bar in half, turning back to the door. "Chocolate was the first thing I ever gave him, ya know. It was our fourth date, and I wanted to get him something, but I couldn't think of anything outside of chocolate." He allowed himself a chuckle before adding, "He acted like he'd never had the stuff before. Said it was the best chocolate he'd ever had."  
"He's fine, you know," Jo said, after a moment's pause. Dean turned from the door, green eyes brightened as though the clouds had parted and the sun was finally shining.  
"Can I see him?" he asked, hopeful.  
"You can, but I don't know why you'd want to. He's out like a light. He's down in ICU for the rest of the afternoon, but he'll be back by tonight," Jo explained.  
"Let's go, then," Dean said. He started to stand, but automatically sat back down on the bed. Jo smiled.  
"Good Winchester," she said, adopting a high-pitched and pandering tone. "What a good patient." Dean's good mood couldn't even be sullied by her jokes.  


"So how'd the surgery go?" he asked as she got the wheelchair from its rightful place behind the door. He braced himself for whatever response may come, secure in the knowledge that at least Cas was okay.  
"Well, actually. The swelling went down a ton, and no muscle was damaged, so the problem should be totally solved. We'll have to keep him two extra days, though, because of his condition." Dean nodded.  
"That's fine," he said, easing himself into the wheelchair Jo'd brought.  
"Well, I'm glad I've got your permission," she said sarcastically. Dean laughed, then a thought occurred to him.  
"Have they got tables in the ICU?" he asked, turning halfway around to her.  
"Yeah, tiny ones. Why?" she asked, pushing the chair towards the door.  
"Hang on a sec," Dean said. "Push me over to Cas' side of the room, will ya?" She did, stopping short in front of the small low table tucked in the corner. Dean grabbed the book Cas was reading, and the picture of the two of them, Gabriel, and Sam off of the bedside table.  
"Alright. Let's go," he said, the books and photograph resting in his lap.  
"He's only gonna be down there for a few more hours, Dean," Jo said, smiling at the sheer amount of stuff he thought Cas would need.  
"He gets bored fast," Dean said. Jo pushed the chair into the empty elevator, turning it on a dime like it was a sports car.  
"If you drive like you push this thing, I wouldn't be surprised if it's you who's in a car accident before too long," Dean said.  
"I'm getting you there fast, aren't I?" Jo asked.  
"Sure," Dean said, "but I don't wanna die between here and there."  
"Please. You're in a hospital already-what's the worst that could happen?" She pushed him out of the elevator and down the hall to the ICU, behind heavy metal doors that made Dean nervous. _What was Cas doing in a place like this?_  
"Don't say that," he said, "you'll jinx it."

Cas was in the bed furthest to the left, lying next to a woman with dark and curly hair. The bed was situated under one of the few windows in the room; a curtain had been drawn across one side of it, creating its own little corner. Cas lay in the bed, the rising and falling of his chest and the beeping of the heart monitor the only indicator of life. Dean had been surrounded by that beeping for the last few days, to the point that it haunted his dreams and it's absence was the fuel of nightmares. Jo parked Dean by the side of Castiel's bed, where he was content to sit in silence for a while. He set the photo on the small tray in the corner and placed the book beside it, then turned to Jo, who was flicking the IV that snaked from its post to his arm.  
"Can I stay here?" he asked.  
"What, in the chair, by his bed?" She shook her head. "Sweet thought, but no. You need your sleep, which you cannot get in that chair."  
"Right, because the beds upstairs are so much more comfortable," he muttered. "Just for a little? An hour, maybe?"  
"Dean," Jo said, "he's not dying. He'll be back with you in a little bit. I swear, you are so clingy." Dean crossed his arms like a whiny toddler, before considering how many times he'd called someone clingy. _The shoe's on the other foot, isn't it?_ he thought. But of course he was being clingy-it was his boyfriend, his best friend, the paragon of goodness and kindness and perfection and-"I've gotta go."  
"What?" Dean asked, snapping out of his revelry.  
"I'm being paged. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," Jo said.  
"Who do you think I am?" Dean said dismissively.  
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Jo replied with a smile. "I'll send someone to come get you in a sec." Jo turned and walked quickly down the hallway, the ICU doors swinging closed behind her.

Ten minutes into Dean's vigil, someone pulled back the curtain of the small cubicle. A tall man with short blondeish hair and sharp green eyes entered.  
"You must be Dean Winchester," he said, standing by Cas' bedside. He grabbed the chart off of the shelf on the foot of the bed and scanned it, making marks with a red pen.  
"Yeah," Dean said. "Are you Doctor Morningstar?"  
"I am," he replied. "I did the surgery on Mr. Milton."  
"How'd that go?" Dean asked.  
"Well, actually. At first, honestly, the outlook wasn't exactly great. But the surgery was absolutely complication free, and it's almost like the compartment syndrome never even existed," he said, proudly. Something about him-maybe his voice, or his face-inspired Dean's trust.  
"Thanks," Dean said, a little awkwardly. The doctor waved his thanks away.  
"I'm just doing my job," he said. Behind him, a girl with dark hair and large eyes walked in.  
"Hey, Doctor, there's someone upstairs who wants to speak with you." He raised his eyebrows for a moment and, with feigned excitement, said, "Great. Who, exactly?"  
"Your brother," she said knowingly.  
"Even better. Well, I'd better go, before he sics his little sycophants on me," he said. Dean gave him a sympathetic look and said, "See ya around, then." The doctor smiled over his shoulder at him and walked out, followed by the dark haired nurse.  
"Nice guy," Dean muttered, half to himself and half to the still-unconscious Cas. The ICU was a noisy, inhospitable place; a place Cas most certainly did not belong. Really, where Cas belonged was by Dean's side at their house. By now, early evening by Dean's watch, they'd both be home from their respective jobs (Dean as a mechanic, and Cas as a worker at the local animal shelter) and considering dinner. Later, Cas would leave for his night classes (he was getting his Masters in elementary education), and Dean would hang around the house for a few hours, cooking and watching TV. Cas would come back, they'd talk over dinner, and then, maybe after some television, they'd go to bed together. Dean looked over at where Cas lay by his side and made a decision. _I've got Cas,_ he thought to himself, _that's what I've got, and that's all I need._

The curtains rustled and a short, dark haired boy in clean scrubs stepped through.  
"Hey," he said. "You're Dean, right?" Dean nodded.  
"Yeah. Word travels pretty fast around here, huh?" he asked with a laugh.  
"Well, you are the most interesting patients we've had in here in a while," he answered. "It's like a real life "The Vow.""  
"Yeah, well, I'm glad our tragedy could spice up your lives a little," he said, maybe a little too bitterly. The boy raised his eyebrows.  
"Anyways, I'm here to take you back to your room," he said awkwardly.  
"Right. Thanks, uh..."  
"Kevin," the boy supplied. "Not "Nurse" or anything, just "Kevin." I'm an Anatomy and Physiology student." Dean nodded.  
"Where do you go to college?" he asked, struggling to make small talk but not wanting silence.  
"Not college, high school. I'm AP." Dean raised his eyebrows.  
"Nice to know I'm in good hands," he said. "So, have you got any clue when Cas'll be up?"  
"No," Kevin said, "although judging by the amount of anaesthetic and the notes on his clipboard, I'd say maybe two hours, three."  
"Wow," Dean said. "Why aren't you my doctor?" Kevin laughed.  
"I've got no money for med school," he said, drawing back the curtain. Dean, with some effort, wheeled himself through.  
"You need a hand with that?" Kevin asked.  
"Seems that way, doesn't it?" Dean replied. "Although I've gotta give myself a little credit for doing that with one hand." Kevin smiled.  
"I can see why everyone likes you so much," he said. Dean smiled to himself briefly.  
"Everyone likes me?" he asked, hopefully. Usually, he wouldn't give a rats ass about what anyone thought of him, and maybe it had something to do with his already "vulnerable" state (not like he would say that about himself, of course), but something about the idea of being a favourite patient did make things feel a little easier.  
"Yeah," Kevin said, pushing the chair towards the heavy doors. "Charlie wouldn't shut up about your boyfriend in the break room today, and-this is unusual-Jo thinks the two of you are pretty adorable, too. Even people who haven't even met either of you are asking how you are," he said.  
"Huh. We're flattered, I guess," Dean said, though he had to admit that the whole thing did feel a little trivialising. He and Cas weren't some couple for the hospital staff to fawn over, and their tragedy didn't seem like fitting break room conversation. _Still, though,_ he thought, _it's better than being hated. And maybe Cas can get some extra Jello out of it._  
"You should be," Kevin said. "Jo isn't exactly a bleeding heart when it comes to...well, anything."  
"Tell be about it," Dean said. Kevin called the elevator, and they waited for moment before it arrived, letting out its cargo of nurses and patients like a flood of people into the hallway. 

"So, you want to be a doctor?" Dean asked.  
"Actually," Kevin said, "I'd like to be the president. But I figure I can be a doctor for a few years and build up some credit among the community. Plus, it'll help fill my war chest." Dean furrowed his eyebrows.  
"War chest?" he asked, with a distinct tone of suspicion in his voice.  
"Yeah," Kevin said. "It's the term for the money candidates set aside for the campaign trail." Dean nodded.  
"I'll look for your name on the ballots," he said with a laugh. The elevator stopped on the next floor and Kevin and Dean walked into the nearly empty hallway.  
"What do you do?" Kevin asked as he opened the door.  
"I'm a mechanic. It's what I always wanted to do. I mean, some people want to be president, or famous-I just wanted to be a mechanic," Dean said.  
"It's a noble profession," Kevin said. "Where do you work?"  
"Singer's Auto," he answered. Kevin parked the wheelchair by Dean's bed, then asked, "Do you need any help?"  
"I think I've got it." He pulled himself out of the chair and, in one quick her awkward movement, flopped onto the bed.  
"Graceful, right?" he said with a self-deprecating smile.  
"Totally," Kevin said. "I'll go check on Cas and let you know when he'll be up."  
"Thanks," Dean said. Kevin folded up the chair, leaned it against the wall, and waved away Dean's thanks.  
"Think nothing of it," he said. "I'm just trying to keep everyone's favourite couple together." He eased the door shut behind him, leaving Dean alone with the animal rescue show on the television and his thoughts. 

He was drifting in and out of sleep when Cas returned, looking a little dazed.  
"Hey, Cas. How're you feeling?" Dean asked when he arrived, with Charlie in tow.  
"Incredible," Cas said, voice thick with sleep, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. "Yourself?"  
"I'm alright," Dean said. _Better, now that you're back,_ he almost added, but stopped himself just in time. "Sleep well?" Cas nodded lazily.  
"I had the oddest dream," Cas began.  
"He's still a little loopy," Charlie stage whispered from the other side of his bed. "Earlier, he thought I was Hermione. It was pretty adorable." Dean laughed.  
"I wish I'd seen it," he said.  
"I dreamt," Cas continued, " I was on a beach, but I was sitting in a parked car, too, and there were other cars around, and then the tide came in and the car floated away." Dean smiled.  
"What do you think it means?" he asked.  
"I dunno. But I remember feeling like I got lost." He nestled his shoulders into the pillow behind him, and Dean had to admit he was a little jealous. _What, of that pillow?_ he asked himself as soon as the thought entered his mind. _You're going a little stir crazy,_ he thought.  
"What happened then?" Dean asked.  
"Dunno." Cas rolled over, tugged the blanket up over his shoulders, and fell almost instantly back to sleep. While Cas slept, Dean thought about the dream. He'd never been one to assign meaning to little trivial things like dreams-that was more Cas' thing. And maybe he was making a little too much of it, but then again, maybe not. The beach could be the one they visited for his birthday, and the car could be Dean's Impala. What if somehow, Cas still remembered their life before the accident? Maybe, in his subconscious or something-but no, that was ridiculous. It was probably just a collection of random junk he'd seen during the day. _He must've been on a whole cocktail of drugs,_ Dean thought. _There's no way of knowing just what any of that dream meant, or if it meant anything at all._  
"Hey, Dean?" Cas said from his bed.  
"Yeah, Cas?"  
"You still there?" he asked drowsily.  
"Course, Cas."  
"Will you stay with me? Please?" he asked, half asleep. Dean smiled sentimentally.  
"Always," he said quietly. Cas' shoulders relaxed underneath the blanket and he sighed contentedly.  
"Good," he muttered before fading into sleep. 

"Disoriented Cas is pretty cute, huh?" Charlie asked. Dean had been channel surfing, though nothing could hold his focus. Cas had tossed and turned in his sleep, occasionally mumbling under his breath about nothing, although Dean could've sworn he heard his name a few times.  
"Yeah, you're telling me," he said. "But as priceless as this is, when is he gonna be back to normal?"  
"Soon. When he wakes up again, probably. That's the way these things usually go, at least," Charlie said.  
"Alright, good. So, do people who've just woken up ever say anything they mean?" he asked hopefully.  
"It differs on a case by case basis," Charlie answered. "Why? Did he tell you he wanted to marry you or something?" she asked with a laugh. He chuckled and shook his head.  
"Nothing so sappy. He just told me he wanted me to stay." Charlie smiled.  
"Aw. That's just adorable."  
"Yeah, I know," he said. "So he's leaving Sunday?" Charlie nodded.  
"Yeah. Which gives you three days to win him back on neutral territory, or at least get back on "friend" terms."  
"Trust me, I know," Dean said, a little sadly. "I'll call you if I need a couple of doves or a fireworks display for my absurd show of affection." Charlie laughed.  
"Just call me Cupid," she said, smiling. "Jo was saying you've got physical therapy in a little."  
"Yeah, alright," Dean said distractedly.  
"See ya around," she said, on her way out.  
"Yep." 

Finally, after twenty minutes of waiting, Cas sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned, the yawn Dean always teased him about-kitten-like, he called it, like a tiny roar. That was still the same, as were the slow and sleepy blinks, precursors to full awakedness.  
"Hello, Dean. How long have I been asleep?" he asked, glancing through the thin blinds that did nothing to keep out the cold light of early winter.  
"Maybe twenty minutes," Dean answered. Cas yawned again, quietly, and stretched, hands balled up into fists. "Did I do anything ridiculous while I wad recovering from the anaesthesia?" he asked. "Not much. Just talked a little." Dean took a second and considered his next question. "D'you remember what you told me?"  
"I remember a car on the beach, but that's it. What'd I say?" Cas asked.  
"Nothing much," Dean said, suddenly nervous. _Jesus,_ he thought to himself, _just say it already._  
"You told me about a dream you had, and then you asked if I'd stay with you."  
"And you said...?"  
"I said of course I would. And I did, and I will." Cas smiled and flipped through one of his books.  
"That's very kind of you, Dean," he said. Dean shrugged dismissively. It was just his job. It was just what he did, like a reflex, like calling him by their little nicknames or wanting to lean right across the nightstand and kiss him senseless.  
"It's nothing, really. It's not like I have a choice or anything, anyways," he said.  
"But if you did, would you?" Cas asked. _Great,_ Dean thought. Now he was caught between honesty and outright stalkerish tendencies. What was he supposed to say? _"Yes, almost-stranger, of course I will stay with you and watch you whilst you sleep, cause that's normal."_  
"Yeah, I would. So long as you wanted me to," he answered finally. Cas opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Jo walked in and he closed it again.  
"Hey, Winchester. Ready for physical therapy?"  
"I thought you'd never ask," he said sarcastically. As Jo pushed Dean's wheelchair over to his bedside, she asked, "So, Cas, how're you feeling?"  
"Good, thank you, Jo. And yourself?" Cas asked, the very picture of politeness and manners.  
"Alright, thanks," she answered. Dean managed to manoeuvre himself into the wheelchair without once touching the ground-to keep it from becoming too boring (provided it wasn't too late), he made a game out of it, and of late he'd been getting pretty good.  
"I'll be back soon, Cas," Dean said over his shoulder as he and Jo left.  
"Good," Cas said, and Dean smiled. This, for him, was a victory. Small, granted, but a victory either way. 

Buoyed by the impatience to see Cas again, Dean flew through physical therapy. He didn't so much as flinch when he walked on his ankle for the first time, nodding blithely through all the "dos" and "do nots" from the physical therapist. Jo, who waited on him, obviously knew he was not paying any attention.  
"You daydreamed right through that, didn't you?" she scolded as they rode the elevator up to his room. This time, he was on crutches instead of his typical wheelchair. They were far easier to manoeuvre, though he'd noticed that crowds didn't part before him with as much readiness as they had before.  
"Yep," Dean said. "I've broken something before, I know what I'm doing."  
"Yeah, sure," Jo said with a chuckle. "When you do something stupid and wind up back where you were at the start, don't come crying to me."  
"Please," Dean joked, "I don't cry."  
"Oh, okay, Mr. Tough Guy. I'm sure The Notebook had you blubbering like a baby," she teased.  
"I've never seen The Notebook, FYI, and also FYI, I'm sure I wouldn't've cried." The elevator dinged open and, before walking down the side hallway, she said, "You just keep telling yourself that, Winchester." He smiled all the way back to his room. 

"Look at you," Cas said when he returned. "Back to normal."  
"Yep," Dean said. _Almost,_ he thought. "D'you know when you're going to be up and walking again?"  
"Saturday, hopefully. I leave next Sunday." He was halfway through his book now, the one he was beginning just before Dean left for physical therapy. He always was a fast reader. Smart, too. And he loved school.  
"The night classes are the highlight of my day," he told Dean one night after he'd gotten back. "Right after talking to you. Well, right after kissing you, actually," he corrected after a moments thought, "and just above the garden," at which point Dean said, "You are overthinking this a ton," before leaning across the kitchen counter to kiss him.  
"How's that book?" Dean asked, walking laps around the room on his crutches, enjoying his newfound mobility.  
"Fascinating," Cas said. "It's about the oncoming extinction of the Bengal tiger, and what that could mean for the rest of its ecology." After a pause, he said, "As much as I hate to ask this, could you slow down a little?" Dean laughed.  
"Why?" he asked, though he knew the answer full well.  
"You're making me nervous. I know it's petty, but I just don't want you to fall, because Heaven knows I couldn't help you up, and your arm might make it difficult for you to do yourself," Cas said. Dean held up his hands in surrender and walked over to the bed, dropped the crutches on the ground, and sat down. When usually he would've been irritated at Cas' attempt to parent him, now he was almost glad-at least this proved he cared.  
"Have you still got those chips over there?" Dean asked. Cas handed them over, grabbing one last chip as he did. For the rest of the evening, the two of them watched Christmas movies-since it was only two weeks away, most channels were already airing the most popular specials. Cas always used to complain about the "commercialisation of Christmas," but then Dean would always put on some Christmas music or hang some mistletoe somewhere and the complaining would come to a full stop. Somewhere around the house, in fact, there was a picture of an annoyed, yet amused, Cas wearing a Santa hat and Dean beside him, wearing a headband with mistletoe hanging from it.  
"I don't understand why Christmas must be such a corporate holiday," Cas said, snapping Dean out of his revelry. For an instant, it was almost as though they were back at home, on the sofa with hot chocolate, watching some hilariously melodramatic Hallmark Christmas special.  
"I dunno," Dean said. "I think it's festive."  
"Yes, I just don't understand why it has to be so commercial."  
"Aw, come on, Cas! Get in the Christmas spirit. Maybe I can get a little fake tree in here sometime." Cas laughed.  
"I will admit," he said, "there's nothing better than a really well-made Christmas cookie."  
"Yeah, I'm with you on that," Dean said. "Hey, Cas, do you want some cocoa?" he asked suddenly.  
"Have you got some?" Cas asked.  
"Well, I could. I mean, they sell it downstairs in the cafe, and it'd be good practice for me to walk down there," Dean said.  
"I would take you up on that," Cas said, "but I don't have any money." Dean paused for a moment, trying to remember if he had any or not. Then it dawned on him. He had ten dollars-it was probably still sandwiched on between the pages of his Neil Gaiman book, where he'd put it a few weeks ago so he wouldn't forget to bring it to work with him. Naturally, he had forgotten it, but luckily for him it worked out in his favour. He opened the book by his bed and pulled out a ten dollar bill.  
"Don't worry about it, Cas. You can pay me back later. You want marshmallows, right?"  
"Yes," Cas said. "How'd you know?"  
"Everyone loves marshmallows, Cas. It's a fact of life, like gravity or the fact that the other lane of traffic is always moving faster than yours," Dean said. _Crisis averted,_ he thought. Everything was dangerous now-every mundane fact that he knew about Cas could cause a veritable landslide of trouble. He had to be careful that he didn't screw up somehow, though he knew his good luck could only hold out so long. Now, though, luck was not his concern. All that was on his mind was cocoa, Christmas movies, and Castiel. 

The waiting room of a hospital at night was one of the saddest things he'd ever laid eyes on. The people in there weren't just coming in now because it was convenient; these people were desperate. It was flu season, after all. Dean avoided the sneezing and coughing huddles like the plague, which they practically were. The cafe was at the far end of the lobby, next to a gift shop, where they sold flowers and stuffed bears holding hearts. Navigating the crowds (which was easier said than done with a crutches and a broken arm), he finally arrived at the small cafe. As he was waiting for the cocoa, a voice from behind him said, "Mr. Winchester, you're about to have your hands full." He turned around and there stood Dr. Morningstar, in a pristine white doctors coat.  
"Oh, hey, Doctor. You scared me for a second," Dean said.  
"I'm a scary guy," the doctor said. "How's Castiel?"  
"Good," Dean said. "I'm getting him some cocoa."  
"Chivalrous," he observed. "Well, I should get back to work. Places to be, people to fix," he said. "I'll see you around."  
"Yeah, you too," Dean said. Dr. Morningstar was an alright guy, in his opinion. At least, he seemed to be a good doctor, and that was what mattered, in the long run. The cocoa was a struggle to carry in one arm, especially since it was already occupied with a crutch. What was more, the temptation to get Cas flowers (they even had poppies, his favourite) was just too great to resist. Which is how Dean ended up riding the elevator with a bouquet of poppies in his mouth and two cocoas in one hand. While he was walking to Cas' room, Jo offered him some help.  
"As hilarious as you look," she said, "would you like some help?" Dean nodded, gently so as not to bother the poppies. She carried one cocoa and the flowers, walking back to the room alongside Dean.  
"Aren't you busy with other patients?" Dean asked as they walked.  
"Are you complaining, Winchester?" she asked.  
"No. I'm just curious."  
"No, I'm not. And even if I was, you should be grateful that I'm taking the time to help you, period," Jo said. Dean smiled.  
"Oh, right. I am forever in your debt, oh great Jo," he said sarcastically.  
"Now that's more like it. Alright, can you handle it from here?" she asked when they arrived at his door.  
"Yeah, I can. Thanks," he said. She opened the door for him and he stepped through, the flowers tucked under his arm and the cocoas in his hand. Jo took his crutches and propped them up against the wall, just inside the door, before easing the door closed again after him.  
"I've got our cocoa," Dean said.  
"Thank you. Those are nice flowers," Cas said.  
"Thanks. They're poppies. I thought you'd like them."  
"I do." Dean handed Cas the cocoa, which he took, holding it in both hands. Dean sat down on his bed and sipped his cocoa, glancing occasionally at Cas. He was staring at the television screen, affixed to every black and white scene of "It's a Wonderful Life," drinking his cocoa. There was a thin ring of melted marshmallow around his mouth, but Dean was too busy chuckling at it to let him know. Before too long, they were both asleep, with the light still on and the television illuminating their faces.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is here...kinda late, I know. The next chapter is already almost finished, so it should be here soon. Thanks for reading and enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

 

         The next morning, Dean woke up with a horrible realisation: it was his last day at the hospital. His last chance with Cas. _The only way to win him over now is with some elaborate display of affection,_ Dean thought defeatedly. When Cas woke up the next morning, after his routine yawn, the first thing he said was, "You get out today, don't you?"  
"Yep. I'm home free," Dean replied, voice devoid of joy. He did not feel home free, he felt trapped by situations outside of his control.  
"You sound thrilled," Cas remarked.  
"You're a regular mind-reader," Dean said. "Yeah, I just like not having any responsibilities. And they get cable here." Cas laughed. Dean always used to bargain for cable for their house, but Cas would always refer to the numbers and remind him that there wasn't the money for it.  
"We can either eat or watch HBO," he'd note, before adding teasingly, "If your soap operas are that important to you, well...". At this point, Dean would pout briefly before trying to curry Cas' favour with kisses, which worked almost every time.  


         "What do you do for a living?" Cas asked, dragging Dean out of his daydream.  
"I'm a mechanic," Dean said. Part of him still wasn't used to Cas' amnesia; he expected him to snap out of it, and any second now come to his senses and say, "Wait, I know you. You're Dean Winchester and we're in love." But, of course, he could do nothing about it now, and the fact that he hadn't yet come to terms with it was hard to believe. "What about you?" he asked.  
"Last I remember," Cas said with a rueful smile, "I delivered newspapers and walked dogs." His eyes changed, melancholy Dean so hated to see seeping in. "I don't even remember where I live now. I don't remember where I went to college, much less if I went to college. I don't know if I've got somewhere to go back to when I leave this place. Quite honestly, the doctors and nurses have told me that I have the means to pay for my time here, and Gabriel has assured me that I have somewhere to return to, but I don't even know if that's the truth or if it's all just a comforting lie..." He swallowed, his blue eyes darting around the room. If things were different, Dean would tell him that he worried too much and he'd take care of him, just like he always had, just like he always would, but of course that wasn't an option, and Dean could only offer a half-reassuring, "Don't worry, Cas, you'll be alright. Your brother'll pay your bills, and you can stay with him for a while. Hell, if you really need to, you can stay with me." Dean instantly regretted the offer, though that didn't change how much he meant it. He considered how it must've come off- _creepy with a side of stalker,_ he thought, and scrambled to take it back.  
"I appreciate the offer," Cas said, composing himself. "I will be okay, I think," he said, as much convincing himself as he was anyone else. Dean nodded.  
"You will."  


        "Nice flowers," Charlie said when she came in with breakfast.  
"Thank you," Cas said. "Dean gave them to me." Charlie gave Dean a knowing and proud look before handing Cas his tray of food.  
"You're getting discharged today, aren't you?" she asked.  
"Yeah," Dean said glumly, accepting the oatmeal and orange juice from her and prodding annoyedly at the colourless mess.  
"You know, most people consider that a good thing," Charlie said, turning to leave.  
"At least I can eat actual food again," Dean said with a shrug.  
"That's the spirit," she teased back. "By the way, your brother called, Cas. You didn't pick up, so I assumed you were asleep, but he asked me to have you call him back."  
"Alright," Cas said. "Thank you, Charlie." Charlie waved the thanks away.  
"It's my job," she said. 

         Once they'd finished picking at their respective breakfasts, Dean stood up.  
"I'm gonna go for a walk," he announced. "D'you wanna come with?" Cas smiled, almost confused.  
"I don't know if I can, what with my leg and everything," he said disappointedly.  
"You could always borrow the wheelchair. I think it's still in here." He climbed out of bed, crutchless, and walked towards the door where the wheelchair was propped up.  
"Be careful, Dean," Cas said, instinctively sitting up and leaning forward.  
"Careful is my middle name," Dean reassured, opening the wheelchair. "Now, are you coming or not?" Cas paused for a moment in thought, then nodded.  
"I suppose. What could it hurt, after all." Dean smiled triumphantly.  
"That's the spirit, Cas." He helped Cas into the wheelchair and grabbed one of his crutches off of the wall.   
"D'you know how to work that thing?" he asked, watching amused as Cas attempted to manoeuvre the wheelchair.  
"It can't be too hard," he answered. Dean smirked and asked, "Do you need some help?"  
"Yes, it's beginning to look that way," he said, slightly embarrassed.  
"Okay, here." He left his crutch leaning against the wall and steadied himself on the back of the wheelchair.  
"Dean, that cannot be safe. And besides, doesn't your leg hurt?" Cas asked, turning slightly in the chair to face him.  
"No, I'm fine. I'm tough," Dean said, pushing the chair into the hallway. "Which way?"  
"Towards the elevator, I think. Jo will tear you to shreds if she sees you out and about, especially without your crutches, you know," Cas pointed out.  
"Well, then, that just adds to the suspense," Dean said nonchalantly, weaving the wheelchair around carts of equipment and coughing patients, around whom he was careful to leave plenty of space. 

        "The turn radius on this thing is shit," Dean muttered under his breath.  
"It's not a sportscar, Dean," Cas said with a laugh. "It doesn't have that kind of manoeuvrability."  
"Well, it should," Dean said, sounding a little wounded. "I mean, wheelchair bound people wanna go on thrill rides, too. You know, I'll bet this thing would look really cool with flames painted on it," he joked. Cas laughed again, the musical sound Dean had been missing for the last few days.  
"Maybe we can get some of those massive wheels and install a stereo; it'll be the first sports-wheelchair," Cas suggested.  
"Yeah," Dean said, "you'll be the talk of the ward." He pushed the chair down to the end of the hall and called the elevator, waiting impatiently for it to arrive. He was only vaguely worried about Jo seeing him, although he knew that being seen up without crutches could only lead to trouble for him. The elevator arrived quickly, the doors opening to reveal a crowd of three or four people, all coughing.

         "You think we'll fit?" Dean asked quietly, furrowing his eyebrows at the green-looking group standing in the elevator. "Yes, I think so," Cas said with a shrug. Dean grimaced and hesitantly pushed the chair inside, the occupants making room for him. He leaned against the wall, wincing every time someone coughed or sneezed. It wasn't himself he was worrying about; he was always pretty ambivalent to germs and illness, until he met Cas. Cas had a fragile immune system, not to the point of being debilitating, just enough to make it a minor concern that dwelled in the back of Dean's mind. Cas was sick almost every Christmas with a cold-it had become a tradition for them to receive orange juice, hand sanitiser, and tissues for Christmas. This, in fact, was the first hear he hadn't come down with something, and Dean was not about to let that change. 

         When the elevator doors opened again, Dean stepped out with a relieved sigh.  
"I was almost certain I was going to get sneezed on in there," Cas said as they walked around the hospital lobby. The number of the people lingering around had gone down, as had the pitifulness of those people. Now it was mostly visitors, which was sad, granted, but not nearly as sad as the sick and desperate from last night.  
"Me too," Dean said. "We're just lucky, I guess." They walked around the hospital for a little longer; there wasn't much to see inside, although outside there was (Cas had been told) a little garden, with flowers and a fountain and benches. Cas managed to talk Dean into going outside, convincing him that it would be pretty, despite the cold, and that the sun would probably do him some good.  
"If either of us catches a cold, I'm blaming you," Dean warned.  
"I will happily accept that blame," Cas replied confidently. Dean had to admit, the garden was nice. It was nothing spectacular, really, but the flowers were exceptionally pretty, especially for the dead of winter.  
 _You know, if you're gonna do something romantic and dramatic,_ Dean encouraged himself, _this would be the place to do it._ But then, what would he say? _"Hey, here's something funny, I love you."_ Even he wasn't that crazy.   
Instead, he settled on making a simple suggestion; "Hey, Cas, I've gotta come back for physical therapy tomorrow, would you mind if I came to visit you?"  
"I wouldn't mind at all," Cas replied. Dean smiled to himself, surprised at how well that went over.  
"Awesome," he said, sitting down on a wrought iron bench next to Cas' chair. "I'm kinda gonna miss having somebody around," he added. Cas smiled.  
"Thank you. I'll be a little lonely as well," he said. "Surely you have someone to go home to. I mean, a person like you, you must have a companion. Right?" Cas asked. Dean swallowed hard, trying not to let his smile fade.  
"Yeah, no, I-I, uh, I used to. But," he choked out, shaking his head, "but not any more. I mean, not yet. So, short answer, no." He stumbled over his words in a way he wasn't used to; people used to say he could say anything to anyone and they'd believe it, that he was a "great talker" ( _Whatever the hell that means,_ he always thought.) Sam had said that he'd make a good lawyer, because of his charisma, and Dean would say, "Yeah, I'll take you up on that if you take the BAR for me." But now, of course, he was stuttering and mumbling and backtracking as though he'd never spoken to another human in his life. "Uh, you?" was all he could think to say after the embarrassing exchange.  
"Not as I remember," Cas replied.  
 _Figured as much,_ Dean thought. Outwardly, he smiled and shrugged.  
"I guess we're in the same boat, then," he said. "But I have a feeling we won't be for long." Cas looked at Dean uncertainly. "I'm sorry, are you..." He paused, as though to highlight the sheer ridiculousness of the concept. "Flirting with me?" Dean almost breathed a sigh of relief. This was his territory-here, he knew what he was doing.  
"Depends," he answered coyly. "What would you say if I was?"  
"Well, I'd be flattered, and then I'd flirt back, in this strictly hypothetical occasion," Cas replied, matching his tone. Dean raised his eyebrows slightly. Cas' game was far better than he'd remembered, not that he was complaining, of course.  
"So what if it wasn't hypothetical?" Dean asked, licking his lips.  
"Well, I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Cas said with a small smile. "I need the time to practice my flirting skills, anyway," he added. "They're relatively nonexistent."  
"I dunno," Dean replied. "They seem pretty existent to me." Cas glanced at the ground and shrugged.  
"Thank you," he said. "As I remember, I don't get very much practice."  
"What do you remember?" Dean asked, trying to place just how far back Cas' memory went. Charlie had told him he'd lost 8 years, which would make him fifteen, far before Dean ever met him. But still, this Cas was better than no Cas; and he had the chance to not make as many mistakes, or at least to make different ones.  
"I remember learning to drive, and I remember my three brothers, and my parents. High school I remember vaguely...the last thing I remember is a test in physics and getting yelled at by my father. I have a sinking feeling they're somehow related," he said with a dry laugh.  
"You get a bad grade? On a physics test? I kinda doubt it, Cas," Dean said. "You seem like you were a pretty good student," he back-pedalled.  
"I was alright," Cas answered. "Never really a mathematician, though. My best grades were always in English. Or Life Science." "What d'you wanna do, professionally?" Dean asked.  
"I think I'd like to work with animals. Or maybe teach children. I'm not sure yet, although I suppose I must've had some kind of job."  
"You'd make a good teacher," Dean agreed. "You seem like you've got the personality for it."  
"How do you mean?" Cas asked, turning to look at Dean.  
"I dunno. You just seem patient. Relaxed. But not too relaxed. I just look at you and think, "elementary school teacher,"" Dean explained. _Among other things,_ he thought.  
"Thank you," Cas said, smiling. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered, almost imperceptibly. "You cold?" Dean asked.  
"A little," Cas answered. He pulled the sleeves of his warm flannel pyjama top down past the tips of his fingers, pulling them over his hands like mittens. The shirt had always been one of his favourites; Dean had bought it for him when they bought each other pyjamas for their first Christmas, after they were "going together," as they'd decided to put it.  
"You wanna go inside?" Dean suggested, a little cold himself.  
"Sure," Cas replied. 

         "How do you operate this thing?" he asked, pushing futilely at the wheels on his chair.  
"Here," Dean said with a short laugh. He stood up and leaned over the back of Cas' chair, putting his hands on the wheels. "You just have to push forward and down. It takes a little practice, but on the bright side, I think you're getting crutches today."  
"Oh, good," Cas said. "Like this?" He placed his hands on the wheels, his fingers brushing against Dean's for just a second, and experimentally pushed against the wheels. The chair lurched forwards slightly, and Dean smiled proudly.  
"Yeah," he said. "You're a fast learner."  
"Hardly," Cas corrected. "I mean, you had to teach me."  
"Everyone has to be taught something," Dean said dismissively, following him inside. "I mean, nobody knows everything."  
"Yes, I know," Cas said. Dean ran around in front of him, holding the door open for him. Walking down the hall towards them was a mildly irritated-looking Jo, with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.  
"Dean!" she called once she noticed him. "Your brother and a little Scottish guy are looking for you." Dean smiled. "How long've they been here?" he asked.  
"Maybe fifteen minutes," she shrugged. "They're waiting in your room."  
"Yeah, alright. I'll be there in a second. Tell them I'm on the way," Dean said dismissively.  
"Well, you'd better hurry. The little one's getting impatient," Jo warned over her shoulder as she walked off. 

         "Who's 'the little one'?" Cas asked.  
"He's my brother's boss. Crowley. He said he'd help my brother with the law stuff about the wreck," Dean explained. "He can be kind of a snobby dick sometimes, but he wins cases, so I can't exactly complain."  
"What is it that irritates you about him?" Cas asked, pressing the button that called the elevator and turning around slightly to better see Dean.  
"What doesn't?" he replied. "He's a smug little prick."  
"You do have a high opinion of him, don't you?" Cas teased.  
"Trust me, if you knew him, you'd be saying the same thing." It was, Dean had to admit, his cunning that made him such a great lawyer. Without it, he, and by extension Sam, might not've been as renowned as he was.  
"So if you hate him so much, how can you stand to have your brother working with him?" Cas asked. Dean shrugged.  
"The money's good. And Sam says he's learning stuff from Crowley-hopefully good stuff. I mean, he seems to like it there, so it can't be all bad," Dean said.  
"You two get along, by and large?" Cas asked, wheeling himself into the nearly empty elevator.  
"Yeah, normally. I mean, he's great. Pretty awesome. What about you?" he answered. Of course, he knew exactly how Cas felt about his siblings. And besides, it was something they could talk about-common ground that maybe he could use to rebuild their relationship.  
"There's just the three of us-Gabriel, Ezekiel, and myself. He was alright, as far as I remember. And obviously he still is, seeing as he came to see me. You said you know them, right?"  
"Yeah," Dean nodded. "They're pretty cool. Gabriel especially. He and my brother know each other pretty well." This was a fact, and something he gave Sam no end of grief about. Gabriel always brought him coffee, hung around his office, and dogsat for him. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd say they were dating. 

         "Ah, Prettyboy," Crowley greeted as the two of them walked out of the room.  
"Crowley. Good to see you too. How's life in Crumpetville?" Dean replied quickly. Sam stood up from the chair he was reclining in and said, like a patient parent, "Guys, cut it out. This is just a business meeting. You can kill each other when the case is over and done with." Dean crossed his arms and sighed impatiently.  
"Alright, fine. Let's just get this over with." Dean helped Cas back into his hospital bed and perched on the edge of it, settling in for what turned out to be a half an hour of legal jargon and simple questions. He and Crowley managed to keep up a vaguely polite correspondence for the duration of their conversation, though sometimes Crowley would slip an "insufferable moron" in between his questions and Dean would reply under his breath with, "conniving little sissy."  
"Alright," Sam said, closing his folder of forms and notes. "Dean, I already got all your stuff together. I'm gonna go down to the lobby. When you're ready to go, just come down, yeah?"  
"Sure," Dean said, looking quickly from Sam to Cas. "Yeah, um, I'll be down in a sec, alright?"  
"Sure," Sam said, smiling compassionately at Dean before adding, "See you around, Cas. Feel better."  
"I will," Cas answered with a slight smile. Crowley stood up from his chair and said, "Right, get better, boys."  
"Will do, your majesty," Dean said. Crowley followed Sam outside, easing the door closed behind him, and leaving Cas and Dean alone together for what he assumed would be the last time in a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late, but I hope you guys like it. The good news is, I'm nearing the end of the other fic I'm working on. The bad news, I've just picked up another one. I am co writing the other one, though, so the responsibility will be split between me and my coauthor, thehoundsofdestiel. (She's really great-you should check her out.) I'll tell you guys as soon as the first chapter is up. Till then, enjoy and more soon!


	6. Chapter 6

         "So, Cas," Dean said plainly, making no move to stand up.  
"Dean," Cas answered. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," he said, melancholic. To Dean, his words felt like a condemnation.  
"Yeah, right," Dean said, sighing quietly.  
"I will miss you, you know." Dean laughed.  
"You'll miss me?" he muttered incredulously.  
"Who will show me modern cinema? Who will go with me on unapproved walks down to the garden? Who'll give me Jello and listen to my anaesthesia fuelled ravings?" Cas asked, half joking and half serious.  
"I'll be around," Dean said, getting to his feet shakily and setting his hand on Cas' foot. "Don't worry. I'll be around." He was reassuring himself just as much as he was Cas.  
"Of course you will," Cas agreed. Dean turned halfheartedly towards the door a moment before Cas spoke up.  
He paused, then asked hesitantly, "Listen, I know this is incredibly selfish of me to even consider, but would you mind staying? Just a little longer?" Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed, smiling.  
"Yeah, 'course, Cas. Lemme call my brother, tell him not to wait up, alright?"  
"Certainly," Cas said, grinning broadly. He handed the phone across the bed to Dean, drawing the cord along after it. 

          Dean dialed the number by heart, listening to the dial tone for a moment before Sam answered professionally, "Sam Winchester."  
"Yeah, hey, Sammy. So, I'm gonna hang around here a little longer," Dean explained, his voice mixed relief and pride.  
"Yeah, alright. How're you gonna get home?" Sam asked.  
"I'm a grown up. I'll call a cab or something. It'll be fine," Dean dismissed.  
"I'm sure it will, but you've gotta come down here and check out. You can run right back upstairs, but they've gotta officially discharge you first," Sam said. Dean clicked his tongue.  
"What would I do without ya, Sammy?" he asked rhetorically.  
"Probably be in prison," Sam answered.  
"No way. I'm too smart for that. Listen, I'm gonna go down and check out, you run along. Don't wait up."  
"Don't worry, I won't. I'll see you around, then, Dean."  
"Yep." Dean hung up the phone and glanced up at Cas, who was still smiling. "I've gotta run downstairs and do some official thing. I'll be right back," he said. "You want anything?"  
"Nothing more than I've already got," Cas answered, smiling sweetly. Dean blushed slightly-but only slightly.  
"Good. This'll only take a sec." 

         He ran as fast as his broken leg could carry him out of the room, neglecting his crutch that was still propped up by the door. The actual checking out process took only an instant-a dark haired, bored looking woman at the front desk typed some things into her computer, then went back to reading her tabloid. When she glanced up again, Dean was still there, leaning on the counter.  
"I'm visiting," he said.  
"What?" she asked, smacking her gum.  
"I'm visiting Castiel Win-" he paused, correcting himself almost instantly. "Castiel Milton." She stared at him blankly. "Room 665. Car wreck. Work with me, here." "No need to get snippy, mister," she said, suddenly very offended. She glanced at something on her desktop, then waved him away.  
"You're clear. Go."  
"Thank you," he said exasperatedly. "Has anyone ever told you just how personable you are?"  
"Go." He held up his hands weakly.  
"Going, going."  


         "Done and done," he said, easing the door closed behind him. "You get on alright, while I was gone?" he asked.  
"Of course, Dean. It was only a few moments. I think I can manage," Cas said, half honest irritation and half teasing.  
"I know, I know. Shoot me for worrying about you." He dragged a chair right up to Cas' bedside and sat down, scrolling distractedly through the channel listing.  
"You ever seen Die Hard?" he asked, glancing over at Cas.  
"No," Cas said brightly, "but I'd like to." Dean turned on the TV and tried to focus on the movie, but there were so many things he wanted to, needed to, say that it was next to impossible.  


         Finally, he turned to Cas and said, "You know, it's a good thing you asked me to stay, cause I'm shit with goodbyes." Cas smiled and looked over at him.  
"I don't think anyone is genuinely good with goodbyes, some are just better at distancing themselves from situations than others. And then there's the factor of how much people care about the person they're leaving," he said. Dean just looked at him for a moment, scanning his face as though trying to commit to memory every detail. Cas always had human behaviour down to a science-at times, it even seemed as though he wasn't a human himself.  
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked with a slight laugh.  
"Like how?" Dean asked, vaguely worried that somehow his eyes had conveyed what his mouth was afraid to say- _I love you._  
"Like I'm some kind of miracle. Like my existence defies explanation. Like I'm special or something," Cas said.  
"You are," Dean replied simply. "You are special, Cas. I mean, I'll bet you're the best thing that's happened to a lot of people in a long time." He paused for a moment, but for the first time in the last few days, he didn't regret what he'd said. This, he would never take back. This he would repeat over and over again, without fear or hesitation, because it was true, and in his opinion nothing else mattered.  
"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, looking at Dean in that wide-eyed innocent way that he used to.  
"Don't worry about it, man. It's the truth," Dean said with a shrug.  
"You think very highly of me, for someone I just met," Cas pointed out with a laugh. "Well, it doesn't take long to notice that I've got something good," Dean said. Cas laughed and raised his eyebrows.  
"You think you've got me?" he asked, laughing. Dean, who had only just noticed his slip-up, said confidently, "I'd like to."  
"Patience," Cas said, though there was something not wholly innocent about his tone, "is a virtue."  
"I know," Dean replied, leaning back in his chair, "it's just not one I tend to observe."  
"Maybe we'll have to fix that." _We._ "We" was a definite step. As Sam once reminded him, "we" meant that the other person saw a future with you.  
"Nobody ever says anything entirely on accident," he'd said. "Everything someone says means something, whether they know it or not." Snapping Dean out of his hopeful daydream, Cas pitched forward and coughed loudly into the crook of his arm.  


         "Jesus, Cas, you alright?" Dean asked.  
"Fine," Cas said, clearing his throat.  
"You sure?" Dean asked again. "Cause, if you're not, I can always call Charlie." He knew this road-he'd walked it with Cas before. Cas would sneeze or cough or something, but of course he'd act as though nothing's wrong and the illness would develop and develop until it put him out of commission for days at a time. It had never been anything worse than a bad cold or a flu, but nevertheless, Dean could never be too careful, especially with someone as stoic as Castiel. He'd never been one to complain, even when he'd been asked specifically to.  
"Dean, I'm absolutely certain. If there was something wrong with me, you'd be the first to know, I can assure you." Cas smiled crookedly at Dean before coughing again-not a violent, racking cough like the first, but enough to make Dean worry.  
"Cas, you're makin' me kind of nervous, man," he said with a short laugh.  
"Worry about yourself," Cas replied firmly. "I am not a child, Dean." He'd heard that before. _"Don't treat me like an infant, Dean." "I don't need to be coddled, Dean." "I am an adult, Dean. I can handle this on my own."_ No matter what the situation, no matter the actual danger level or the amount at stake, Dean always tried to keep Cas out of harms way to the degree that he could, whether it meant insisting that Cas stay home in bad weather when the roads iced over or making sure he got home safe after night classes (Dean would call him and make sure he'd made it back to the car alright, because as he said, "somebody like you, all gorgeous and innocent, wandering the campus at night, it might be dangerous," and Cas would reply, "I'll show you how innocent I am when I get home," with a teasing smile Dean could practically feel through the phone lines.)  
"I know you're not a child, Cas," Dean said, "I just wanna look out for you. Is that so bad?" Cas shrugged.  
"No, of course not. I just don't want to be patronised."  
"I'm not trying to patronise you, I'm only trying to keep you safe."  
"From what?" Cas asked, furrowing his eyebrows.  
 _From the world. From people. From life. From disease and pain and sadness and anything that could hurt you,_ Dean thought. But then, he was being absurd, he decided. People go to hospitals to get better, not to get worse. _Right?_  
"From everything."  


         Charlie nudged open the door with the front end of the cart she pushed down the hall.  
"Hey, Cas," she said, taking the tray of food off the cart. "And Dean," she added when she noticed him.  
"Hello, Charlie," Cas said with a small smile.  
"Hey, Charlie," Dean said.  
"Just couldn't stay away, huh?" Charlie asked, meaning more by it underneath her teasing tone. She looked pointedly from Dean to Cas, who was already embroiled in a different book-Religion and the Renaissance.  
"Oh, yeah. I just couldn't resist the disease and watery coffee," Dean replied with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrows. Charlie laughed sympathetically.  
"You know, the on-call has a pretty great coffee maker. I'll see if I can't hook you up," she said with a subtle smile. She handed Cas his lunch of salad and jello-an bizarre combination, but, Dean thought dryly, what he probably would've been eating at home anyway.  
"Thank you, Charlie," Cas said with a small cough, closing his book after reading one final sentence.  
"'S alright," she said dismissively. "Are you feeling alright, Cas?"  
"Perfectly fine," Cas brushed off. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows, leaned over, and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.  
"You're a little warm, Cas. I might-" her pager beeped, interrupting her. She pulled it off the waistband of her scrubs, where it was clipped, and her eyes widened.  
"Shit," she muttered. "I'm supposed to do rounds with Morningstar. Cas, I'll be back to check on you as soon as I can. And I'll bring that coffee, too, Dean," she said, grabbing her cart.  
"Alright," Dean said. "Thanks, Charlie."  
"Don't worry about it," she called over her shoulder as she dragged the cart out of the room.  


         "Cas, I hate to say I told ya so, 'specially now, but I did tell ya so," Dean said. In this case, it was true-he wished he was wrong, but obviously he wasn't, and Dean had heard enough horror stories from his brother about people arriving at a hospital relatively well, and leaving even worse off.  
"I'm fine, Dean. Just a cold or something. Practically nothing, I'm sure," Cas dismissed, spearing the lettuce in his bowl with his fork.  
"That's what they all say," Dean chided, before snickering under his breath. "You and your rabbit food," he muttered.  
"What do you mean?" Cas asked, cocking his head.  
"Your little salad. It's like rabbit food," Dean mocked good-naturedly. "Are you a vegetarian cause you love animals, or cause you hate plants?"  
"Dean," Cas said, smiling, "surely you're kidding."  
"I'm really not. You don't miss meat?" Dean asked, leaning over his shoulder and grabbing the piece of chicken off of the top of his salad.  
"Not as I recall. It doesn't really seem very appetising. I mean, you _are_ eating a corpse," he pointed out. Dean looked at the sliver of chicken in his hand, shrugged, and said, "Eh. Salad is vegetable corpses."  
"Vegetables aren't sentient, Dean," Cas replied with a laugh.  
"You never know. What if they're sitting in their little patches, thinking, "don't pick me! Don't pick me!" I'm just saying, have you ever asked the vegetables how they feel?" Dean suggested jokingly.  
"No, but the next time I see a head of romaine or a carrot looking particularly world-weary, I'll be certain to stop and check in," Cas teased back.  
"Yeah, make sure you do," Dean said, "cause the way people treat plants, it's just not right." Cas laughed and returned to his book.  


         "That any good?" Dean asked, reading over his shoulder.  
"Exceptionally," Cas answered, clearing his throat.  
"Cas, I hate to burst your bubble, but you really need to get that seen to," Dean said worriedly.  
"Dean, I'm fine. You need to worry about yourself, more than you worry about me," Cas chided.  
"Well, somebody's gotta take care of you," Dean said.  
"Yes, and that somebody is me. And besides, Dean, I've already got a nurse who frets over me constantly. You're not in perfect health yourself, you know."  
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean said dismissively. No matter how correct Cas was, Dean wasn't about to stop prioritising him above himself.  
"So you'll stop?" Cas asked.  
"No promises," Dean replied. "I'll try not to as much, okay?" Cas smiled slightly.  
"Okay."  


         "Hey, Cas," Jo said, pushing open the hospital room door. "Charlie tells me you've got a fever?"  
"A fever?" Dean asked quietly, leaning forward in his chair.  
"Chill out, loverboy," Jo chastised teasingly. "It's nothing bad. I'm going to get you some penicillin, and that should cool you off a little. It'll get rid of the symptoms, too. Speaking of, your leg's gonna need redressing before too long. Charlie should be done with rounds by the time you finish your dinner, so she'll do it then. Alright?" she asked. Cas nodded and smiled.  
"Yes, thank you, Jo," Cas said. Jo smiled.  
"Just doin' my job, Cas," she replied, easing the door shut after her.  


          "You'll tell me, if you get any worse, right?" Dean ascertained.  
"Of course, Dean."  
"Good." Just as Dean had settled back in his chair, the phone on the small table rang. Cas answered it quickly.  
"Castiel Milton," he said, listening to the voice on the other end for a few moments. "Alright, Mr. Singer. You're welcome. Here he is." The cord of the phone dragged the receiver along and into Cas' lap after it as he handed the phone over to Dean.  
"It's for you," he said.  
"Thanks," Dean replied, taking the phone. "Hey, Bobby," he said. At least this much of his life remained normal. "How'd you find me?"  
"Sam told me you'd be there. Listen, as happy as I am for you and your boy, bein' alive and together and everything, I gotta ask you to come down to the shop tomorrow. Everybody's gearing up for the snow, so we're gonna have loads of people comin' through. And you know Adam can't handle your shift." Dean sighed, glancing at Cas. He was still buried in his book; his eyes were lit up in the way they always were when he read, and they scanned the pages so quickly it was hard to keep up. He didn't want to leave him here, but as it stood, their only income was Dean, and for the time he wasn't doing anything towards it.  
"Yeah, I'll be there around 9:00. But don't count on me to stay till five, alright?" Dean said.  
"Yeah, alright, Dean. How're you two recovering, anyway?" Cas looked up at him, furrowing his eyebrows. Dean shrugged apologetically.  
"Work," he mouthed. "Sorry."  
"Oh," Cas mouthed back. "When?" Dean covered the receiver and whispered a hushed, "Tomorrow, 9:00."  
"Pretty well," he replied to Bobby. "Can't complain. At least, not much." He paused. This was far from the whole truth, but what was he going to say in Cas' presence? After a long silence, he settled on, "I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Right. See ya," Bobby said.  
"See ya," Dean said. He replaced the phone onto the receiver and Cas moved it back to the table.  


         "Sorry about that, Cas. It was my boss," Dean explained.  
"You're a mechanic, right?" Cas asked. Dean nodded. "How do you fix a car?" Dean smiled slightly and shrugged.  
"Well, to be honest, it's not always all that simple, Cas. I mean, fixing a car is more of an ongoing thing. It's a project. You're never really done," he said. "There are some things, course, that you've just gotta know how to do-changing a tire's one, changing the oil, that kinda thing. I could teach ya, if you wanted to learn," he added.  
"Yes, I'd like that," Cas replied with a smile. "You'll be coming back, won't you?" he asked, concerned.  
"Yeah, sure, if you want me to," Dean said.  
"Of course I do," Cas said, as though it was obvious. Dean nodded.  
"Good. I'll always come back, you know, Cas. Whenever you want me here, that's where I'll be," he said, achingly sincere. Cas glanced from his hands to Dean and back in an endless Möbius strip.  
"That's a very generous offer, Dean. I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into," he said finally.  
"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Dean replied, leaning back into his chair.  


         "Dean, what do you know about the practice of seduction?" Cas asked after a long pause. Dean practically choked on the Coke he was drinking.  
"A little, Cas." he replied, all feigned innocence. "'S there someone you've got your eye on?"  
"There may be," Cas said with a nonchalant shrug and a carefully concealed smile. "Can you help me?"  
"I can damn sure try. Now, listen, when you go for somebody, you've gotta make sure you know their interests and stuff. You've gotta know what kind of music they like, their favourite foods, they sense of humour-this is stuff you can bond over," Dean said, turning in his chair to face him. He was animated, now, hopeful, and going from extensive experience.  
"And bonding," Cas asked, "why is bonding important?"  
"Cause once you've bonded, you can take the next step into dating. You don't have to bond for long-a week, maybe two, sometimes even a year," he said. A year-that was the case with he and Castiel. At first, they were strictly for utilitarian purposes; Cas was working at the Heavensent Animal Shelter, and Sam had lost his dog, so it just seemed like the first place one would look. It was far from the first place Dean looked for a date, though. It was serendipity, in the form of a shaggy black and grey mutt named Sputnik, coaxed on by the slight upturn of Cas' lips and the way even the baggy jeans he wore the day they met flattered him, that brought the two of them together, and it was sheer bad luck that dragged them apart.  
"And once you've founded a base of friendship with this person, how do you further the relationship into more romantic territory?" he asked.  
"Big words for someone so supposedly unfamiliar," Dean said.  
"I've had a lot of time on my hands for the last few days." He laughed, and the welcome sight made Dean laugh, until Cas cleared his throat and said, "Seriously. How does one initiate a date?"  
"The way I see it," Dean said, "it's all about the other person. If they're the romantic type, you've gotta be a little romantic. If they're laid back, be laid back. But the most important thing is to just go for it, cause if you don't, you might miss your chance, and then, you'll never know how it would've worked out. You can't be afraid of anything. Alright?" Cas nodded.  
"I believe so. Thank you," he said.  
"Anytime, Cas," Dean said with a kind and small smile. He smiled easily around Cas; it was practically automatic, whenever he saw him. "Oh, and good luck. Although I don't think you'll need it."  
"I wouldn't be so sure, Dean," he laughed. "My romantic track record is not exactly remarkable." Dean raised his eyebrows.  
"No," he balked. "Really? You?" Cas cocked his head to one side.  
"You seem a little surprised," he said. Dean considered his response for a split second, then, despite his uncertainty, said it anyway.  
"Damn right, I'm surprised. Surprised you didn't have crowds of people beating down your door for a shot at you. I guess some people can't see what they've got, huh?" Cas blushed.  
"Or maybe they can see too well. Either way, though, I haven't had too many successful relationships, believe it or not," he added sarcastically.  
"I bet that'll change," Dean said, smiling.  
"Especially with your sage romantic advice," Cas said, half genuine, half teasingly. "Yeah," Dean said with a dry laugh. "You could call it that." The phone rang again-Dean sighed, crossed his arms, and stood up from his chair, walking slowly but surely to answer the phone.  


         "I'll get it, Cas," he said. _Better not be another damn job,_ he thought.  
"Hello?"  
"Hey, Dean." Dean exhaled, relieved.  
"Sammy," he said brightly. "I was afraid it was Bobby." Sam paused.  
"I thought you liked Bobby?" he asked.  
"I do, but not when he drags me away from more important things," Dean said.  
"Ah, right. How is your more important thing, anyway?" Sam asked, a teasing edge to his voice.  
"He's great. Got a little cold."  
"I'll be fine, Dean," Cas interjected with a patient smile.  
"I know you will," Dean said, perching on the edge of his bed. Cas put his hand over Dean's, and Dean smiled and glanced over his shoulder at him.  
"Tell him I hope he feels better soon." There was a moment of chatter in the background, and Sam added, "Oh, and Gabe says hi too."  
""Gabe?"" Dean repeated questioningly. Since when did Sam call Gabriel "Gabe?"  
"Gabriel, Gabe, whatever. So listen, are you gonna be there for another day? Cause if you are, you're gonna need some more clothes. I mean, if you want Cas back, you're gonna have to pay attention to what you look like, for the first time in three years," Sam said.  
"I don't need to pay attention to how I look. This comes naturally," he joked. Sam scoffed dismissively. "Anyways, I might be here overnight." He looked over his shoulder at Cas, who nodded.  
"If you'll stay," he said.  
"Course I'll stay," Dean replied aside, to Cas. "I've gotta work in the morning...maybe I'll pick up some stuff from the house while I'm out."  
"It's alright. We'll bring you some stuff."  
"We?"  
"I. I'll bring you some stuff. Speaking of we, by the way, I broke up with Alice," he said.  
There was a pregnant pause, and then Dean asked, "Sammy, this wouldn't have anything to do with Gabriel, would it?"  
"What?" Sam asked, sounding shocked. He wasn't fooling Sam, of course-this was the same avoidance tactic he himself had used when he first started dating Cas, and even before. He learned from the best. "No, no, of course not. It's entirely platonic. I just wondered if-" Dean heard the sound of Sam covering the receiver with his hand and said, "Gabe, quit." There was another pause, a stifled laugh, and then, "Gabriel, I'm on the phone. Gabe!"  
"Oh, yeah, sure. Platonic my ass, Sammy," Dean said with a laugh.  
"Dean," Sam chastised, though he didn't sound too offended. "Listen, I gotta go. Visiting hours are till 9:30, right?"  
"Yep," Dean said.  
"Alright. Gabe and I are gonna come by in a little. We'll bring you your stuff." Dean smiled. _Gabe and I._ If Dean was the King of one-night-stands and flings, Sam was the King of dead end, distant, long relationships. Ever since his fiancée Jess died in the fire that burned their house to the ground, Sam had never made what would be called a "connection," but Gabriel seemed to be as close as he'd gotten so far. And Gabriel would probably be good for Sam, as well; he could use somebody who could teach him how to have a good time, and Gabriel could use a bit of a grounding force.  
"Yeah, see you then," Dean said. "Thanks, by the way."  
"Anytime," Sam said. "Talk to you soon." He hung up, and Dean returned the phone to its receiver.  


         "That," Dean said, "was Sammy. He and your brother are gonna bring some things by for me, so I've got supplies for today and tomorrow." Cas nodded.  
"Our brothers...are they romantically involved?" he asked innocently.  
"I think so," Dean said, after a moment of consideration. "Sam's not about to admit it, but I don't think Gabriel's gonna be as shy."  
"Then, have they had sexual congress?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Dean laughed, remembering how long it took Cas to phase it out of his vocabulary.  
"Dunno, Cas. Maybe, but I kinda doubt it. Otherwise, Sam would be in a better mood." Cas smiled.  
"You know Gabriel, correct? Fairly well?" he asked. Dean nodded.  
"Yeah, kinda. Why?" he replied.  
"What is he like? Presently, I mean?" Dean shrugged.  
"Funny. He's got a bit of a sweet tooth. He can be kind of an ass sometimes. Probably pretty much like you remember," he said.  
"What does he do for a living?" Cas asked.  
"He works at a coffee shop, sometimes," Dean said. "But mostly, he's already retired. He was a business analyst, when he was a little younger, but now he just spends the money he made from that. Mostly on my brother, and travelling. He throws really great parties." Cas squinted his eyes, and Dean panicked inwardly. The eye squint meant that a serious question was going to be asked, and it was probably going to spell trouble for Dean. This was the same eye squint that proceeded things like, "Where were you last night?" and "You're not working this weekend, right?" and, most recently, "How much money did you spend on this, Dean?" when Dean bought home a new laptop, as an anniversary present for Cas.  


          "Do you know me, somehow, Dean?" Castiel asked, not aware of the spiral of panic he was sending Dean into. _Shit._ Cas was catching on now, of his own accord, so maybe it was time to tell him about the two of them. But then, no, because what if he got mad Dean didn't tell him sooner?  
 _Well, you're going to have to tell him eventually,_ he thought. _The only choice you've got is if you're going to do it now, or later on, and both will probably have the same result._  
"Dean?" Cas asked, his tone more serious.  
"Yeah, right," Dean said finally. In a split second decision (in retrospect, it was the wrong one,) he said, "No. Not really. I've only ever heard of you before."  
 _Now you've done it,_ he thought. But Cas smiled, and he sighed, relieved, for now, at least.  
"Only good things, I hope?" he asked, jokingly.  
"Oh, yeah. Only the best."  
"Such as?"  
"Such as, you're great at Scrabble, and you're a fairly good driver, and you love dogs. But that's it," he lied. Maybe he did still have a chance. Maybe he could somehow make this relationship an organic one, and as long as he covered his tracks well enough, maybe he'd never have to mention their lives before the accident.  
"Interesting," Cas said, not yet catching on (or at least, not showing it, if he was). "What is it that people say? "Small world"?" Dean nodded.  
"It definitely is, Cas," he agreed. Cas shifted over in his bed and Dean climbed on it beside him, only able to fit one leg on the tiny and thin mattress, but somehow comfortable nonetheless. They watched Home For the Holidays, one of their favourite Christmas movies, and the few things Cas had showed Dean, until Gabriel and Sam arrived, just barely making the 9:30 mark with time to spare.  


         "Hey, Cassie," Gabriel said, striding in without knocking. Sam followed right behind him, and Dean caught them releasing each other's hands before stepping inside together.  
"Hello, Gabriel, Sam," Cas said.  
"Hey, Cas," Sam said. "Dean tells me you've got a cold."  
"Just a mild one," Cas dismissed. "Nothing severe."  
"Yeah, you'd better be careful, little brother," Gabriel said. He unfolded the wheelchair from behind the door and sat down in it, manoeuvring over to the bedside.  
"Gabe, don't break it," Sam chided, setting his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Cas threw Dean a very meaningful look, and Dean smiled and nodded imperceptibly.  
"Please, Sammy," Gabe replied, looking up at him. "I'm not a ten foot tall klutz like some people I could mention."  
"I am not a klutz," Sam said, smiling slightly.  
"Oh, yes, you are. You're a danger to yourself and others, and don't you forget it," Gabriel said. Dean, who was beginning to feel a little sick, said, "Don't you have some clothes to give me, or something?" Sam held up his backpack in reply.  
"Everything's in here," he said. "Clothes, shoes...I bought you some celery, too, so you eat something green from time to time." Dean scoffed.  
"Yeah, I can't see that happening, Sammy." He accepted the bag from Sam with his free arm and unzipped it, rifling through the clothes inside.  
"Looking for something?" Sam asked. Dean glanced up and shook his head.  
"Nothing specific," he lied. What he was, in fact, looking for was the tiny amulet-like charm, hanging from a plain black leather cord that was a constant fixture around his neck. It was one of the few actual gifts Sam had given him when they were younger, and bounced from relative to family friend and back after their mom died and their dad vanished to god knows where. Dean wasn't superstitious, at least, that's what he said, but something about the presence of the cold metal against his neck and the softness of the cord made him feel somehow safe, and that safeness was something he could sure use now.  
 _Figures I wasn't wearing it at the accident,_ he thought dryly. Finally, his hand alighted on the strand of worn leather at the bottom of the bag. He dragged the necklace out and pulled it over his head, Sam flashing him a quick and knowing smile. "Thought you'd want that," he said.  
"Yep," Dean said. "Ya know me too well, Sammy."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter, because I feel kind of bad for not posting anything in forever. Because I just love making my life difficult, I'm now working on not one, not two, but three separate fics, with the occasional prompt or ficlet as well. I'll try to divvy up my time evenly, but by now I should know better than to make promises. Enjoy, for the time being, and more fairly soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this 1st chapter of my new Destiel fanfic. It's a little slow at first, I know, but it picks up next chapter. Enjoy and more soon!


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